god is a maniac poet

on top of me,
a beautiful tornado,
his face is the clouds.
his sweat pouring rain.
the perfect storm.
i will name him
in the light
of tomorrow.
i’m happy for hate.
so i understand
this love.
to learn the taste
of sour,
so i crave the sweet.
his flesh is
ocean foam.
i taste the salt
on his swinging stones.
i’m a maniac poet.
blessed to be angry.
spitting my sex
on his fruit.
i gamble away
my nicotine tongue
inside of him.
years of the sun
have not spoiled him.
our music is carved
from unknown notes.
he uses my ears
to crucify my throat.
i’m never satisfied
to be satisfied.
his fingers fondles
me in prayer,
arousing my soul.
the older i get,
the younger i get
to dying.
he’ll be the last
naked sparrow
to kiss me.
sealed together
by man made glue.
from a holy fire
our eyes are buried
in each other’s ash.
god is a maniac poet.
a healer of crime.

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