Acolyte

• Alaena Hodgson, Grade 11
• Poetry
• 2022

I found religion
in the way the afternoon sun
refracted off that droplet of moisture
on your upper lip.
Gilded light worked its way through
the gaps in the curtain,
and I swore that I saw Apollo himself
trace his fingers across your cheek.
His touch bled gold
and swathed you in a veil
of aureate light.
I couldn’t help but stare at you,
with misty eyes,
like an acolyte reveres his god.
Let me be the one to worship you.