his body is nearly a universe:
nearly the universe,
his hands orbiting a
broken solar system,
his fingers the
planets and the stars,
his soul contains multitudes:
infinite galaxies,
possibilities mapped out
by his mouth;    
sun that leaves
trails of blazing fire
comforting in its warmth.

we form a
halo of skin and lips and bodies
the closest i am,
closest i have ever been
to a
higher realm

body becomes
my religion
i never get on my knees to
pray but
i beg him to
worship me at
my altar,

and when he finds me
oh,
when he finds me-

it is tattoos and
wet mouths pressed and
dry eyes;
it is laughing until we forget the joke,
and the night casts disapproving glances
upon our
two
******
souls;
it is the arch of two backs
bent over, straining with
twisted desire;
it is brown hair tasting of salt-
glowing golden in the rising
sunshine that cuts slats onto his
freckled skin;
it is kissing him when he tastes like
desperation and
hope,
and i can tell you that it is the
only time i have ever
felt anything remotely
like
faith