She calls is jesus,
I call it chemicals.
Her enlightenment
reached in a book
of unknown origin
Sunday rituals
that remind me of
a sinister cult-like
mindset.
She has faith
in something intangible,
unprovable,
full acceptance of not knowing
Her god is an excuse.
My enlightenment,
a yellow glass design
the science behind
a lighter,
and the earth in my bowl.
A tiny blue, orange, yellow
pill, whichever is
most pertinent.
A tab, a stem, a cap, a line,
close my eyes and see
my own god in the patterns
of my enlightenment.
She calls it jesus,
I call it chemicals.

as a writer

i have a soft spot

for romance

but nothing else

You asked me if

we would ever die

and I said that

no, i don’t think so

there’s too many wounds

still opening

and not enough scars

there’s all the time

and so much more to love.

You asked me why,

and I said

that because

we don’t believe

in god

there would be nobody

to take what is

ours.

i don’t think

i’ll ever have to resist

the urge to kiss you

ever again.

and that makes my bones

shiver, protected in my skin

protected by you.