PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Every Sunday at church, we meet like friends

You think about God, but I think about your face

And how it would feel in my hands

Inside the chapel, my eyes are drawn to you

While eyes of the hunters, sneering with contempt

Search for people like me, like us 

I think they already suspect

While the preacher drones on, about sodomy and sin 

 you, mad man, sitting beside me

Give me a wink and a grin

I am tempted to grab your hand

And pull you from the pew and run away with my man

Let them shriek in disgust and fear as we run

But for now I simply smile back,

pleased at your irreverence 

Arm's length is too far,

but for now it's my preference

But that afternoon, you walk me home

Like children after school

And on the front steps

Finally brave

I tell you I won't be coming back next week

I've outgrown the charade 

And you, 

Quiet, thoughtful, 

Think on it for a while

And take my hand and kiss me

"I am yours. You are mine."