please please me
let your gaze rest on the hills
that curve in flesh, not cypress trees
lavish your love on these dry bones-
woken by your hands,
not commanded by Elijah's God-
fill my cup to rivers overflowing
in milk and honey,
in wealth more precious
than the golden wedding bands-
that don't really mean much
anyways, because
affection can be found deeper
like a wellspring between you & me
than in the cold beds of
man & wife who always
leave room for jesus but
forget that he too had *** sometimes
(he was married, you know!)-
i'm not eve, don't be scared of me
no serpents hide within my heart
and if they did,
is it really that big a deal?
medusa was a badass, you know.
besides, you can learn a lot
from a woman whose love
isn't defined in dinners at 6 pm
and fresh pressed linens before work-
i've got lessons to teach you
but their contents come from
raw, unabridged reality
not the pages of a worn book
translated and re-translated
by old white men throughout the ages
who demonized jesus' wife
because they were afraid of
her love;
are they afraid of my love?
because i listen to women,
because we hold stories deep
and never lose a word to time
because our stories are precious
because they're made of our love
about our love, and yours too
because we don't like leaving room
for your god; he'll be just fine
behind your pearly gates,
while we let you please us
but remember
it's a lie that a happy wife
makes a happy life:
you have to let her make you happy
and stop walking all over her love.
so please, please me
and stop leaving room for jesus
while you push us into the cold.