She kisses me with cream
and lemon yellow
making me pucker up
for lips
that are like doorknobs
covered with red velvet
driving me crazy
for birthday cake that I don't need to taste
just light all the candles
and ******* away.
Wishing for things I don't think
I am allowed to tell you
and even if I could
I'm not sure I would
because her body is my church.

And

that's not what I mean but it's the closest my tongue will get
with words.
My god
is merciful.
She plants kisses with rosewater
and
green seeds across my landscape
and confessions are
sincerely *****.

Forgive me mama,
I have sinned.

And

she does

with gifts of limbs
from a better half

the pagan's god

                                           split.  

Because this kind of man
with this kind of woman
made them weep for symmetry
and envy
how permanent every one of our moments
are.