Bodies Cannot Be Temples

My mouth was a cathedral in which you loved to confess your sins.

My thighs were the alter at which you knelt within,
but it was never you who was supposed to be on their knees, as you told me. 

Condoms were the only constant in our relationship, as well as the fact that you always thought about her. While I kissed the salt from your lips, she filled your sheets like the velvet ribbon between bible verses.

My hands were like forgiveness, and whenever we touched,
my back broke from trying to hold so much. 

So did you mean to put the nails in my hands, or was that just your way of coming clean?