Take Me to Church

This is the best poem I have ever written to date. I was afraid to share it with the world because of how "love" is personified here. After sharing it with a very godly friend of mine, I've gained the courage I desire to share it. She made an insightful comment--the woman is you--this is the way you see love. 

How do you see love? Bittersweet? Passionate? Consuming? Steadfast? Tidal?

“Admit it: you have spared her nothing, not even this.

Like little planets hanging there suspended like soft stars like

cattle kneeling in earth. Crows flutter in her veins; church bells

come again in wet speech.”

The Usual Past Tense …Is Hung

Emily Carr

Bittersweet is a generous love

all at once devoted and consuming

infatuation at its best

she becomes your whole world

every detail cemented in your heart

catalogue the joyful enraptured bliss

dote on her with all your riches

negate your own self care

all other people you dismiss

while you worship her

Admit it: you have spared her nothing, not even this.

Specks of copper on porcelain

intentional chaos of a master sculptor

highlight flaws that make perfection

you trace the dots forming the picture

her skin holding constellations

the rhythm of her heart begins to spike

careful attention at the cost of all else

you and she in limbo here

in all your differences alike

contained within her universe

Like little planets hanging there suspended like soft stars like

Time is not of importance

you lose yourself in her

and she lazily devours you

tasting the soft caverns of your heart

minutes turn to hours and days

you cannot think freely of her spells

mischief is her master

freedom is her burdened yoke

grazing through dormant impassioned belles

at her pleasure you are reduced to

cattle kneeling in earth. Crows flutter in her veins; church bells

Two are one and one are two

a tangled sleepy mess

she is the bond you cannot break

love rests here within forbidden fields

discipled by her captured affections

silent and still your bodies preach

to one another’s quiet fears

to pebbled paths of discontent

to consumption of each ripened peach

her pale blue eyes whisper in your ear

come again in wet speech.