The Holiest of Sins

If I told you, you’d laugh that melted butter laugh of yours and maybe quote scripture to me as if that would help. I’ve never been the jealous type, but I love you like you’re the sun and you know the time center of the universe is. It’s not me. How terrible of a sin is it to envy God? How silly is it to want you to worship me like you worship Him? We are commanded to love God before all else, but you make me like to think that sometimes God isn’t looking. If I told the poets, they’d make it some grand romantic ache, paint me as an ancient hero fighting the universe in beautiful futility. I suppose there’s something poetic about how I love you, but there’s nothing romantic in how my foolish envy burns. I kneel by you and watch your lips as you pray, studying you as tenderly and fervently as you study the Bible. I kneel in front of you and worship your every move, all unholy lips and sinful desire, all reverence and devotion. I know your body as well as the Creator does. I swear it, as if I had sculpted you with my own unworthy hands. I hear hymns in your breath while you sleep and find the universe in your arms as we wake together. If I told God, maybe he’d be merciful and calm this fire in my soul. They say hes’s a jealous God, but I’ve only even wanted a god who loves. I don’t want a God who condemns. I want healing. You heal. I know your hands only fill the spaces between my fingers, but nothing has ever made me feel so whole. With you, water turns to wine.

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