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[chalicevore]

i could taste religion within the insides of your mouth cheek and i savored it; there is faith in your touch and trails of my worship in your tongue.

we are two pilgrims incinerating destined to coalesce, and in between its fire i still ache more to feel our palms drip in sweat. i kneel to the churches that stand on your feet, then i felt the heavens tremble with envy; for it yearns to be the one that i pray to. my affections are a sacrament of my devotion to your body, heart, and soul—you may claim all that i am, for i belong to only you.

my voice sang to the angels and yet your name echoed back, compelling me to know that you are to be heard by me as i am to be heard by you. and whilst devout worshippers offer their convictions to the divine, i stand defiant, unbound by the constraints of absolute—i am to defy the very gods and deities that others revere, for i find my redemption in your sacred hands. amidst hallowed halls of dogma and doctrine, i am a heretic; a blasphemer who dares to question the sanctity of his commandments and choosing instead to worship at the altar of your presence—where our breaths mixing is a ceremony and every kiss is a profane prayer.

in the temple of my belief i swear not to obey false rules but only to what comes along the pump of every blood that resides within our hearts. one that has no sins to live around the euphoric connection that we have; no judgements to give an ear to and conform by.

i am to let all of heavens rage as i leave the angels weeping beneath their golden soles. i am not one to be swayed by the texts of divine intervention or to quiver under thunderous condemnations. no one's wrath compares to your saccharine gaze; i am to start a rebellion in the means of seeing you in bliss.

so let the fire of damnation burn bright because i will walk within it unscathed, my dedication unshaken, my devotion unwavered. i seek absolution in the fervor of your embrace—i know that in you i found my religion, my paradis, my salvation, my eternity.

[chalicevore]

similarities presented themselves along the words of god and him backwards—a dog. as you rummage through two opposites, they become too much like each other: a teeth that gnaws on violence, a mouth that waters for aggression, a tongue that feeds of dominance, and a being of filthy manipulation.

a cunning predator that lurks around the presence of a master. it has its loyalty set on the stage, dancing precariously—is it submission or trickery? (1) feed it none and the dog will bark all in its fury. once you starve it, it prowls with its canines bared—you can almost feel it feeding of your neck. its hunger is to be heard by humanity that it will start to chew on the skin. driven by instinct alone, it acts upon destruction; its intimidation left unchallenged. (2) feed it and you will be completely awed by its obedience. its eyes bloodshot as it eats away the prey that you prepared in front of its bowl; like a sacrificial lamb for god.

an insatiable hunger that cannot be assuaged—nourished through blind faith. with every worship offered, his divine authority appears absolute. are you to be bestowed with your longed blessings? or are you merely an actor performing on the theatre of his 'omnipotent' hand? in his benevolent facąde looms the same barbaric fangs as a dog. difference being a dog is seen below us humans and god as somewhat supreme—yet both are fueled with its identical current. a shift in power balance, with a dog in its shadows offering you an ignorant assumption that you are mighty; with a god in all its glory illuminates the fact that you are no one but a believer of his false hopes.

the relationship paradox between a believer and a deity intertwined by reverence and thralldom is no different than the connection a master and a beast has with its symbiotic cycle of violence and servitude.

however, in this instance, are we gods or are we dogs?

[chalicevore]

lover, you are eternally fixed to my skin—your essence clings within each crevice of my soul.

your hand does not only grasp mine firmly, its prints and strokes have been etched onto mine; lover, i ask you to no longer leave for i might lost count of every liquid that would gush out of my body. you cannot forcefully cut the ties that glue me to you for it lives and it breathes—and if you wound it deep, i am afraid that it will not only scar but it will meet its own demise.

my love surrounds me / i am love / you are love / my love surrounds you. this perpetual 'thing' i call mine is not to be easily broken down to fragments—it lives even when we meet our physical death. and when it comes, do not try to leave me for even when either of us goes first, i assure you that as long as you (i) let your soul touch mine, you (we) are loved (and we co-exist).

lover, do not let go (we are love)