bible belt born and bread,
oil anointed heads
highlighted verses,
and accidental curses
two girls from Sunday school,
even the Sabbath can’t lay to rest.
her dress touched her heels,
Crosses dangled at her cheeks.
—divine angelic feminine
when she held my hand to pray,
i didn’t want to let go.
every night i longed to hold her and pray for something true,
love letters to the Universe,
for a world where there’s a “me and you”

wwjd bracelet on my left arm,
her, wrapped around my right.
i ask, “what would He do?”
i imagine He’d tell me to love, even if it’s you.
she told me i am love, in the most biblical sense,
patient, kind, without envy, or boast.
—the girl i pray for most
her fingers tracing the inside of my palm as if she’s reading my future.
i clasp and squeeze as she rains blessings on my shoulders.
cherish or perish,
and i choose the ladder.
He is the way, the truth, and the light,
but she reflects light.
— ethereal light
in my life, in my heart, on my mind, all the time.
she is sunlight in the dead of winter,
warming my skin.
i tell God, “the sun shines if you let it,”
and You do.
and it is well.
and she is my sun,
and she is my moon,
and she is all my stars.
God, chart my constellations from afar.

as the galaxies worship Your name,
she proclaims all the kingdom fame.
God’s redeeming grace,
i catch a glimpse within her face.
the closer i draw to her, the closer i draw to Him.
so out I go, on a whim—

— to my Boaz, my proverbs 31 woman, the most equal yolk; triune and true,
precious as rubies and just as rare
noble, virtuous, and free.
it’s not the most orthodox,
and they’ll say my head’s gone askew,
but God couldn’t have given a person more perfect for me than you.

if it’s all mad—
i’d box up the love letters,
and let the prayers dissolve into words in the sky.
but it’s you,
and it’s true,
it could never be bad.

baptist girl in this broken world,
let me lend a hand.
— to scarce to hold, we can’t fit into their mold,
but maybe, that’s okay.
my love, hold out hope they’ll learn that someday.

but for now,
i’ll dry your eyes and fix your hair.
you fit into my perfect prayer,
unnameable,
untamable,
my words transcribed in foreign tongue,
translations, varying none
all deriving this common inquisition:
— be my girl, be my one?