i remember you whispering in my ear in mass when we were meant to be reciting our hail marys.
and daydreaming during the homilies of how dangerously strong our love may be if it was let known,
reverberating over holy lands,
overpowering the sounds of church bells.
but only the walls can hear our words over the loudly sung psalms
and only a god can see in the dark.
your love was architectural.
your love built me cathedrals,
your love built me empires.
the soft vibrations of your sweet love words bounced off the stain-glassed windows and silently drew an echo over the room,
through the pews, up to the sacred altar, presented as a gift to all.
a poet you are, my love,
a goddess, even more so,
with your words, you have the power to create
and with your love, you have the will to sanctify.
for churches are divine, and gods are ancient,
but you are you, forevermore, every century.