gistfile1.txt

i don't believe in god,
but her lips tasted like heaven
and her eyes were the colour
of branches laid bare in winter,
of dirt and the roots weaving
in and out of my ribcage.

she bites her nails
and the skin at my collarbone,
exhales great shuddering breaths
like she is a supernova
and i am her explosion

i don't believe in god,
but i do believe in poetry
and she is the only thing
worth writing about

v.d.