I once yearned to be close to god. Whispering prayers and ******* through violent pages. Spirituality comes in phases.

Would god look away as I thought of another man’s nectar on my lips? Pooling and dripping from the eclipse of our hips. Would god gasp at the flesh within my grasp? Would god leave me alone in the dark as the seed is spilled into my ark?

I no longer think of god. Or liturgies. Or of words on pages distorted to manipulate through the ages. Turn your eyes from me, oh god. For I am close. Oh my god I’m close. I feel the truth erupt from within and it’s sweeter than fructose.

I’ve touched the heavens. It’s gates are pearls on my chest. Sanctified in sugar. Baptized in a batter of leavened bread. I am holier than I’ve ever been. Prove me wrong when I’m dead.