my god.

my god wears flannel shirts
tied around their waist.
my god has too much gender
to be bottled up
into a name.
my god trims their nails short
but never falls short
of the right words
to preach.
my god has black sneakers
& rainbow socks
upon which we lay our hope.
my god wears a black tie,
forever ready for a funeral
they did not plan.
my god braids
acceptance in all
their children’s teeth,
dyes love into our hair;
my god helps us
keep going forward.
my god wears
their skin on their sleeve
& it shines every color.
my god is a
shapeshifter.
one day they are
claiming hearts upon
mountains & the next
they are searching the sea
for some forgotten child.
my god does not claim
land they know is not
their own.
my god has met your gods
only once, but i pray
that they get along.

i start defining love by the places it leaves.

first, love leaves
       my teeth.
       your hair around.
       the tips of my nails.
       my bedsheets.
       my room filled with ocean fears.
       our house/home/haven.
second, love leaves
       the locked door open.
       the bathroom corridor.
       your towel on the floor.
       the water running.
       your coat on the hangers.
       a quick kiss on my forehead.
third, love leaves
       your tea cup on the coffee table.
       my food untouched.
       my brain cold.
       my calls unreturned.
       the street we grew up on.
       your favorite teddy bear.
fourth, love leaves
       your lips.
       the white of your eyes.
       the distance between here and now.
       my flowers dying by your desk.
       our letters never sent.
       our heads filled with silence.
last, love leaves
       us.