why is it that
i frequently run lines of chapstick
over my lips
when a stranger's
hasn't come in contact
in the longest time
and probably won't
for the rest

every year a card is made
from stiff hands and clumsy thoughts
telling of thanks to the squishing of bugs and scaring off monsters
the building of playgrounds and faith to trudge on
for having the ability to always find a cloth to wipe my tears from
66 years of a divine existence
don't leave me any time soon
that wouldn't be divine at all

I tell tales all the time,
though I can never seem to mutter enough about the future.
Though times I believe miles are put behind me, the constellations fall into line.
And we'll lay stanced in parallel form, though my mind is bent in perpendiculars.
The tips of our fingers placed on another, magnetizing like palms to a mirror.
And when your teeth gnaw on the same places my inelegant tongue follows along my lips,
the flesh that shares with the blood between my bones will warm.
And I'll feel the swelter burn while it sears all control to keep from trembling.
And it's still unclear if I'm gasping or grasping too hard.
And though I have no pastor or god to look up to,
your touch feels like finding faith.
Will these sheets wrinkle or will they tear?
- l.b.

there's been much debate in my mind,
on whether love is determined by the heart or the eyes.
do we love most with our vital organs?
aren't they both, wouldn't you say, vital?
by the way we spend currency of sight on someone's treasury,
or by the process of blood coming to a stop - a heart skipping a beat?
both.
i think both is good.

I kissed a boy,
Who's neck was bare from faith.
Empty all around.
His lips tasted like sin ,
But his touch felt like nearby repenting.
I wonder what his mother would have thought.
I wonder if those knowledgeable creases placed on his neck mean more to me than it does to him.

This was inspired off of the work of 'Atheist on a Date'. I wish I knew who to credit, but I don't. None of the less, all credit goes to whoever wrote this masterpiece. I hope you enjoy the reply.

*Original Poem:
“I kissed a girl
Wearing a cross
Around her neck
Her lips didn’t taste
Like church
But her hips
Felt like god
I wonder what
Her pastor would
Have thought
I wonder if that
Cross around her neck
Meant more to me
Than it does
To her”