Take Me To Church

Except, gay.

She's tall and she's

a really weird kind of beautiful

and loves old "grandpa glasses"

and laughs a lot,

and everything comes

from the back of her throat

and she always moves

without meaning to

to hide herself behind

something.

She came over two

weeks ago, and she held

me on my futon, because she

flopped down and I flopped

on top of her, and

she's the one that doesn't

mind cuddling. And she

started humming it,

and I've heard her sing, of course,

but never quite so casually.

She got two lines in and

stumbled; she pulled out her

phone, said she knew it that morning

in the shower, and - all while

holding me - pulled

up the lyrics on her screen and

sang.

She has the most beautiful,

effortless alto voice. It's deep

and rich and fluid and clear

and she sang to me,

she sang as an agnostic

to an atheist,

and I cried but I didn't dare

make a sound and distract her.

When she was

finished, I pulled myself

together, but oh, God,

her voice could have knocked me

over had I been anywhere

but in her arms.

I got her to record a video

of her singing it again

the next night, and I've been

playing it basically

non-stop since; it makes me

feel ineffably safe,

like she's holding me again,

and I wonder why in the f**k more

people don't celebrate

platonic love as strongly

as the other kinds.

She kidnapped me almost

a week after she came over

and we drove around and did

nothing but talk;

and when it came on the

radio, she gasped and

ushered me to be silent,

saying quickly "This song is my

weakness," almost hungrily,

and even though she sang

along, she refused

to let herself be heard.

She doesn't like her singing

voice, or her voice in general, or

people complimenting her.

She rolls her eyes and

groans and it all ties in to how

naturally funny she is

somehow, but it bothers

me, because I'm a really

serious person and I want to

let her know how

much it means to hear her

sing it but

she won't ever let

me and actually listen.

So I let her drag me to

"Jesus Club", which isn't actually

called Jesus Club, because

I thought I'd hear her

sing again. I was right.

When it came on the radio,

I could hear her

this time. And when I was

done, I mentioned how ironic

it was that she would love

that song so much - and

make me love that

song so much - and then she

had literally followed

the order the title gave.

She took me to church.

(I'm listening to the video now.)

Reviews

[W R Stowe]

Love comes and goes and is packaged in many ways. The Greeks have four words used for love and tells of four different types, your poem had rhythm and flow nice job