Two poems by Abigail Eckstine

Holied Saint In Ropes
My body hungers for you
Your hands around my neck
Your teeth buried in my skin
The elegant ritual of it all
And usually I am terrified of doing everything wrong
Saying wrong words that will end this love
But here I please you – and how I long to please you
It’s burning in my throat
Tears and your name and
Yes please, just touch me again
Like a saint in holy ecstasy

This Hairshirt Is For You
I wanted you next to my thighs like a cilice
Metal cut into my body
Your nails on my back
I wanted you across my body
Like a hairshirt
But with your fingers trailing my spine
My nipples and my stomach
I would let you hurt me – a sacrifice to get me into heaven
For I have been a bad girl in this life
My guilt can not be taken away by a night in the confessional
It can only be relieved by you
Let me say a hail mary on my knees before you
Or an our father between your legs
Will this make me a better person?
Or should I wear chains and flog myself?
As I put together a list of penance, where does the hairshirt lay?
This hairshirt is for you.

Abigail Eckstine (They/she)
Abigail Eckstine is a 25-year-old queer writer of novels and poetry, parent-to-be, and the founder of Cauldron Anthology. Most recently they have been published in Catatonic Daughters and Alternate Route. You can find them on Twitter @whimsywriter3.