I’ve found religion in your smile. Trusted the way it curves, practicing the lines in my mind with delicacy, ripening your image until it’s sore. Your throat baptizes me, replaces the devil of my intentions with sweet, rosy breath, curling my inhibitions until they dive back into me and I express my very desires openly on a blanket-- and it’s no sin because I love the way your spine stands like a perfect cross, carrying me to the vision you have of a better me than what I used to be. I’ve prayed for your thighs in naughty ways, but you’ve taken my hands, folded them into shapes I can’t comprehend and kissed my fingertips until I was crying out of confusion and catharsis, finally understanding what it feels like to count people, you, as a blessing. I see God when you make instruments out of blades of grass, or how that strap slides off your shoulders when the wind graces the moment with a whisper. He gave me an angel disguised as a woman with too many pillows on her bed and coffee breath, but you pull me from point to point like taffy, slowly, lagging, molding me into the gift you never wished for. I, bestowed at His feet, unwilling found a soul and a heartbeat louder than any of my unforgiving words.