Rankest Heresy 

i don’t go to church on sundays, but i do spread the poetry books across the coffee table, the ones

full of fruit and kisses and other sweet things

i want to share. i watch you place your palm 

upon the covers

and it feels like a benediction.

some people speak of bodies and blood,

of bread and wine and something larger

and more powerful than themselves.

we speak of creation. works by our own hands.

you aren’t much for religious symbolism

but on sunday afternoons, with the miracle

of your secret smile, my easy laugh?

i call it the sacrament of you and me.

let us be damned

so long as we are damned together. 

RANKEST HERESY, by jones howell


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