curling and swaying like a belly dancer,
intimate and hovering.
the smell is heady and strong,
the heat rising in my throat
as incense burns ash-long.
the golden bowl collecting these prayers
a place to go, to whisper, to groan-
and a new song is sung
because He was worthy
we become kings and priests
to serve our God
as he inhales the fragrant aroma of our prayers.
life exhales as worship:
glory to the Lamb!
a poetic paraphrase of revelation 5 for emily's imperfect prose