In the moment between sacred and profane
we laugh
and call for god
as my need clenches around you

But we don’t mean it

We are not calling down the god of our fathers
or the pantheon of myth

When you hold me
in perfect comfort
There is no need
to summon gods
and miracles

Because it is easy to believe
in the goodness of what is:

the flesh of life,
my head on your arm,
the red threads of your beard between my teeth,
your quiet devotion to the women
who offer ourselves to you,

our love