A very different kind of love (I.P)

Does your skin remember, Croetine?
the warm city air, the cloying dust,
the weight of devotion, supplication,
of men who worshipped at your feet.
Perhaps you yearned for a purer love
without the oily film of lust.

He made you wait, beg, plea, pray,
relinquish your hair, your desires, your name,
but when did you ever believe Croetine,
he had the power to refuse you?.

And at night Croetine, do you pose for Him?
when He summons up the moon,
in your dim lit cell, does your body pray,
free of robe and cowl and veil.

Would you pose for me Croetine, one last time?
for I remember the summer heat,
When a goddess stood in the city dirt,
A hundred lovers at her feet.