Church for the Throwaways

The sun feels so sweet,

like a caress on the cheek.

It lingers, then it spreads with heat,

like your palms, flesh against my skin,

near where my lips speak, and I begin.

Your Hand so gentle as the warmth spreads

from lips to the cheek’s high, contoured line,

to our eyes — filled, overflowing, joy bled —

spreading forth from the center: Yours in mine.

I am left comforted without ever being touched.

Oh, how sweet Your taste to these lips, Beloved;

they are ever new in each morning’s day’s dew.

That I should experience You in such embodied love —

it captures the eminence and permanence of unity with You.

So now I share, that you might know: He is here within — alive, moving

As always Dust,

To you,

For you,

From Him,

In me.