Sunday at Church

Your lips like skies and your eyes like anger
as I return all my rivers to myself, my rivers saline
and sad and forlorn, your arms like castles and
their pits like wells of honey and dew
where I may swim and reflect awhile like myself
your smile like skies, your lips serene
your lips curled in silent rage, your smile frozen
like yesterday’s salmon
that I chewed like vengeance
the mustard dropping slow
down my teeth like mercy, your smile like skies
your lips like skies, your lips serene, your lips divine