my hands craft you into poetry whenever a pen’s in them. whenever my fingers are sliding across a keyboard. whenever i speak about my brain cells being wrapped around the mere passthrough thought of you. whenever i hear your voice. whenever i hear your laugh…fuck, that laugh.
you’re what holy sounds like. you’re what keeps angels on their knees. you’re mercy in every form. you’re what i always come back to. you’re what needs no proof. you exist. you exist. you exist beyond my borders. you exist beyond the reach of my arms. you exist far enough yet close enough to want but not have you. because who’s ever felt god-
because i think praying is selfish.
because people do it to feel connected with whomever fuck they consider their higher power.
because you’re that to me.
my hands craft you into poetry because it knows nothing else.
because i’m selfish.
because that’s the only way i know how to pray.
because people need scriptures for reassurance and i need my words.
i need my you-inspired words.
i need you,