like the devil themselves is holy
like ichor coursing through immortal blood and
nicotine
are holy.
she takes a drag from her cigarette
lips red
like the white of her eyes,
the grey area between lust
and the anchoring wish to die.
holy
like broken halos
and all the prayers i never said,
the church services i didn't go to.
the church pastor said monster
but how could a
monster be this
lovely
her eyes say 'try me'
and her laugh says 'don't you dare'
holy
in the way all bad things feel
so good.
if it's bad then why does it feel so
fucking
right.
she kisses me under the streetlight
like the way people in movies do,
her hands in my hair,
my arms around her
neck.
bodies fitting perfectly together
and i am burning
i am alight
i am flying
i am left with the taste of nectar
on my lips
and i smile.
if she is a sin
then goddamn i'll be a sinner.
she sips from her energy drink
like it's fine wine
like we are queens and the night is young.
she smiles at me,
and suddenly i know:
everything that ends and doesn't is holy
as hell
and as gods
