We don't rise for church bells

On Sunday morning

Stuck between covers and

A sky so young

She still blushes blue

Slowly,

Weighed down from a night spent tangled in one another,

Our hands reach forward

Palms up

Towards the heavens

Like we're asking God

To kiss the tips of our fingers

Like She can even see us

My hands

Never reach that far

Trapped in yours

Clasped together

Like a crown of thorns

Resting on the thin bone of

My pale wrists

You crowd into me

Fill up pews

Ask for sins

Seek forgiveness

Refuse it,

Sometimes

But not today

Not on this morning

We whisper blasphemy into sweaty skin

Dare man,

Dare God

To pull us apart

To give us a reason to

Dig nails into skin

Teeth into neck

Desperate hands into trembling shoulders

We forget the sound of prayer

And the church songs

Our mothers hand-fed us

Caught up in the hymns of

Our breath mixing together

Our words running into nonsense

Our bodies singing

Dressed in our Sunday best

Wearing each other