No god exists but you

No god exists but you.

It is frowned upon, for us to be like this. 

We don’t touch like they do in that lesbian porn

that your boyfriend watches.

When he thinks of you, it's of the softest parts; 

But baby, I know you better, and you are made of hard.

You are sex on ice, your wide hands stretching like the river,

Your neat cunt, hot and prickly against my face 

From all the laser hair removal your mom makes you get. 

The walls of our little cubicle must be consecrated now

From the amount of times I have silently thrown a Hail Mary into the stale air, 

So that I might get to keep you for a little longer.

And when you go down on me, you grip your Star of David pendant so tight in one palm

That little cuts are left behind.

By the time we leave the bathroom 

(Two minutes apart, so it isn’t suspicious) 

My head is still full of you, 

And your six-sided stigmata. 

I wonder, when you become your mom in 10 years, 

Will you sneak away from your golf-playing husband 

And your 2.5 children 

To fuck me in a different bathroom, 

Somewhere else in suburbia? 

Will we talk about it then?

This violent thing 

Which exists between us,

Which hides behind my fingertips when I reach for you, 

Holding you in the palms of both my hands like a prayer.

I’m afraid you'll be different when we are older

 I'm even more afraid I’ll be the same. 

But for now, you’re turning water into wine, 

And when you are looking at me 

I can’t do anything but worship at your altar. 

We both know I’m too far gone, but we are ignoring it. 

This intensity should worry you, but I know you and 

Darling, your head’s not right. 

I am turning in circles, whining, like the dog I am

You're making me heel, and pulling the leash with a smile.

I don't know if Mary hears me 

In my mind, she has to have known  

a life before a child, before God-

And I imagine she must have an understanding

Of how things can be between two girls. 

She knows the line of blue between the sea and the sky 

Everything contained within the border of the horizon. 

She knows the things we built together in the space 

Between “Don’t tell anyone” and “I never do.”

The camera gets grainy when you let me take pictures 

In the reddish darkness of your room, and so 

When I look at them, it is almost like we did not exist at all. 

I hope your boyfriend finds the marks I leave on you

And I hope I am forgiven for wanting him to. 

I hope Mary weeps for us, for the time we don’t have.

Your rabbi takes our Saturdays and my priest takes our Sundays—

We can only really exist here, between third and fourth period 

In the girls’ bathroom on the second floor;

A place where no god exists but you.