The Man and Woman living in my parents' room always sneak up on me.
The first time I kissed my best friend;
my lips on hers, a tingling soulless questioning,
a thud at the doorway separated our tongues as hot knife to plastic,
our eyes lost seconds ago in each other’s gaze, drift to The Woman
from my parents bedroom sprawled on the linoleum.
They invite a priest, pull a white dress over my head force me to my knees
chanting rites of exorcism to levitate the queer evil inside my belly.
The priest dipped my head in and out
into water from the swimming pool behind our mansion.
They smile and declare me one again
with the Holy Spirit.
They tell me to pray whenever abominable thoughts, such as kissing
my best friend take form in my head.
To rebuke the devil and she will flee from me.
But they never show me
routes wide enough
to flee from myself.