waking up at 4am with you,
and bringing helmets
to go hammer spikes into the body of God.
which is of course, just dirt.
its just metal that we've fashioned out of heat, skill, and wisdom
(which was fashioned from pain, questions, and mistakes) and of course, dirt.
pushing you into the mud and kissing you stupid in the body of God.
thinking about your body as a reflection of God
and trying to think of my own body as a reflection of God
but not quite catching it.
like that glint of light that is always catching your glasses
keeping your mystery safe from me a little while longer.
mystery-keeping being a serious profession in the body of God.
body which we turn into blankets, toast, and bedding.
i kiss you stupid again
til we're deterritorialized into empty matter and mass.
the stomach enzymes of god, the erosive powers of the waters of God,
breaking us down into,
of course, dirt.