****, jesus
they call it
the passion of the christ
those muscles and don't-care hair
stretched out for us and our Sins
and who doesn't like a bit of rough-edge stubble?

they call it
blasphemy
i say
let him come to me
that i may feel him upon my breast
if you know what i mean.
the elderly women at church says when Christ comes
we must be upon our knees.
gladly.
****, jesus.
you're the first nice boy
i ever wanted bad.