a lot of my religious friends try to explain to me what god feels like.
They often tell me something along the lines of.
"It's like the love he offers is just so big that it overwhelms you."
or
"it's like he is so understanding and comforting that you just feel completely loved."

I never really got it before I was broken.
I'm still not religious.
But when I think about how I feel about woman, it's very similar.

It's not that I fall in love with one woman.
or that I fall in love with a whole bunch of woman.

It's more like there is so much love coming from every single woman as a whole.
that it just is an all encompassing cloud of feeling less lonely.

so I flirt.
I flirt with every single woman.
sometimes they flirt back.
every healthy word sounding like another warm pair of hands on my shoulders.

I legitimately fall in love at first sight with millions of people.

I'm lonely.
need the touch,
company.
words.

When I say I need you, or I love you,
I mean it.

When I don't say it
I mean it too.
just think you'll leave if you find out.

But
I'd rather be on a porch drinking a beer with friends, then alone in my bed sexting some tinder match from new hampshire.

I'm not doing this for the ***.
don't care at all about the ***.
I just wanna be next to someone.
So when people say they beleive in god,
I understand them in my own way.
They just don't wanna be lonely.
I pray to woman all day long.
worship their bodies like alters.
Woman are this glowing cloud of comfort.

So when one says she wants me to be with me forever.
To be my True religion.
It sounds like I touched God.

Sometimes, I can be a bit much
I might text you multiple random things at a time
And I’ll know you read them
But i’ll keep sending them anyways
I’ll constantly be talking to myself
Because it seems like
No one wants to talk to me
I’ll be there for you always
But you’ll never return the favor
I’m there to worship at your feet
But you push me away when it’s my turn
And I start going insane
Thinking constantly
Ignoring you
Ignoring everyone
Because
Sometimes, I can be a bit much

I'm obsessed, I'm addicted, I'm infatuated, I'm completely captivated by you.

Whether you realize it or not I worship the ground you walk on, I worship you.

You are a sweet breath of life into my meaningless body. You give me soul and purpose.

The way you smile, the way you laugh, and all the little things that the normal eye wouldn't notice are all the things i hold precious.

Here I stand, in love with you. Praying for the day that maybe you'll notice me that way too.

Adorned once again
in somber black,
standing in a row
all inhale an aroma
of purifying incense
from burning charcoal
inside a Thurible
flowing in coherence
with the arm of the balding priest
who prances as a peacock,
circling three times past the altar table.

Buttocks bump against
weathered and worn
relic pews.
Muscles strain to tighten hamstrings
sending messages  
telling the body to please sit.

Tears flow without
the gush that erupted a year ago.
Now the gentle drain
is like shallow
hillside waterfalls in autumn.
Grievous pain is so familiar except
the lava of volcanic emotions
has cooled.
Tissues passed from hand to hand
as those who  anticipated
the display
take care of those
sure they would not cry
or who merely denied
the tempo of the day.

Incantations dwell near the icons
splashed gloriously on the wall.
Chants to forgive sins
of the deceased
combine with pleas
for divine intervention
to elevate the Valhalla home
upward a notch or two.
Blessed wine and sacred bread
distributed to all
who keep the faith
as did the beloved son,
husband, and brother.

Bow down.
Look up.
You addict —
consumed by a
human body.
Ideal to you.
Indifferent to me.
So, look at me.
Look at my *******.
Swollen.
Sagging conically.
Look, but don’t touch
Then, sharpen each square inch.
Pause at each nip.
Turn me around.
I make it easy to feast on my anatomy.
Shove your white fists
inside these delicate folds of skin.
Then rip me off my pedestal
and onto your lips,
so you drown ******,
choked by dust.
Your tongue
carving territory
inside a power-hungry *****.
Just another sculptor, shackled to art.
Such cold worship
granite cannot love.