Amor Vincit Omnia

god likes you lonely. god likes you crushing on him. rumor is he's clingy. rumor is he's buried in the valley of negev. i know he's in your bed, though. i know his knees are to his chest on your bed, his cheeks flushed the color of lilacs. i know he loves you. he tells me this

"whoever returns to their life will lose it," the child of nazareth tells his friends (mt 10:39). the verb in this is εὑρίσκω, heuriskó from heuro. retrouving, retrieving, returning to. you resurrect one night, on a thursday, and you know in clarity the contours of god's love. you're in the garden with him, the genesic garden with ripe cherries and fluffy fronds. you return to your life. then, in one breath, you lose it. there's no consoling, not from the child of nazareth. you return to yourself only to lose yourself. that's religion

you return to god, like he know you'd return to him. you return to him because he knew that. you return because this garden's hate-fucking you. because this river is too big. god knows your lip combo. he knows the color of your nephesh, the life-thing in your throat. he breathes into it, onto it. god's the v line of your lover's tummy. he's your runny nose, knees to chest on the bed, cheeks flushed like lilies. he's never not close to you. closer than that, even

dead dove but it’s me warning you about the bible