On perfect nights,
my room is bathed in incandescent hues.

It reminds me of white-vaulted ceilings
and
soft worship music

The air tastes stale,
Your incense clouds my brain,
While white noise fades away.

The hills and valleys of your body are my altar
and I fall to my knees to pray

I can't tell the difference between
your mumbled sweet nothings,

and

Hail Marys
tumbling from a sinner's lips.