Sweet Blasphemy

I watch his fingers brush the pages of the Bible as he turns them.

And I watch his lips move as he speaks the sermon.

I notice the way his dark eyes land on me.

I cannot give a name to these feelings for Father Roman.

He has already taken his vows of celibacy, and I am about to take mine.

But I can’t help the way I feel in his presence: like I’m dying of thirst and he is the holy water I need.

No, I cannot give a name to these feelings.

Although, deep down, I know what this is.

This is lust.

And it will be a miracle if I can get through this Christmas without letting these feelings slip