I remember memories
I love god like a lover
and sometimes I touch myself, remembering the experience.
it plays over and over in my head like a skipped album
and each time the cycle of break and repeat just gets better
and breaks and repeats and rolls, and plays, and pulls
and breaks and repeats, and tickles and moans and smiles
and breaks and repeats, and clenches and exhales,
and breaks and repeats and pants and it slows,
the player is exhausted.
it retires, in its bliss longing for nothing
Our love is a sacramental, experimental, new-wave love sound
it chirps in the evening and makes home calls during office hours
it doesn't care for political correctness or politics at all
it is selfish and self fulfilling for fun
it is exhaustible, but forgetful
ancient and naive
it talks to us when backs are too angry to share conversations
when pillows are salty cushions for our soaked faces
when we forget.
It has selective Alzheimer,
and is subject to obscure acuitys
but mostly it lay in waiting to be called upon the alter
and to perform its heavenly duties.
it calls us to action and i prepare accordingly
rosemary soaked beads lay waiting
when doves cry plays softly in the background
incenses glower full of myrrh and giddy
theses puddles are made for waking
the hymns start up and we stop talking
and the record begins again.