Friday, February 13, 2009

God Plays Checkers on Her Chest

I can show you God. I have his photograph in my fingerprints. I can show you. But will you see Him?

The devil was explaining to me why he is essential. He was rambling. As he often does. Something about watermelons. Spitting out the seeds. The choke of the sweet. The throttle of lonelienss. As foreign skins collide. The charged ion. The rogue molecule. At the back of her cunt. Basting the seams in heaven.

It doesn't fit. It never will. So I'll just wear it how it is.

Broken zippers. Missing buttons. Thin fabric on shy skin. God is the needle. I am the rip. But where is the thread?

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