I fantasize about making love to Jesus
the one with golden locks, blue eyes,
so different from farm boys I know.
Jesus meets me in the barn.
The hay smells new, feels soft,
not straw that tears my skin, reeks of urine.
I am his first and he is mine,
unclothing each other just enough
to taste the sweetness of fruit
ready to shed its skin.
I take his hands, kiss each palm
press my lips to scars above his heart.
He strokes my hair, my shoulders,
whispers something I can’t understand.
I have no urge to scream.
He won’t shove me to the ground
turn me over like a yard animal
spit on me when done.
He holds me close
You know I love you
leads me to the back stall
lays a blanket just for us.