Still thinking of you,
and you’re still not thinking of
me. This must be love,

Or maybe just prayer…
You’re basically God since I
Don’t know what you think…

I know that you’ve said
‘No other idol but me’ –
but does your cock count?

Too carnal and wild,
to be the pure, one-faced Him;
You’re from somewhere else.

You don’t command plagues
or consequences; you aren’t
choosing anyone…

You brandish your godhead,
Invite us to bend and kiss it,
And burn in your wake.

No rain dance of mine
will bring the love-flood that I’ve
yearned for a lifetime.