You don't have to tell me why
my gods look like you

My hell was populated with gray clouded flames,
merciless darkened waves,
All-encompassing and blinded by faith
of new tastes

and everything remained the same
                                         sickening gray.

But you tasted like spring
with a touch of grace
and suddenly I could say
the things I felt and learned to need

outside of me.

Instead of drowning in ropes of flashflood restraint,
I clung to your hips
and learned to worship

at the ground of something
                                                   holy.