Holy places aren’t built of stone
Too cold to hold hope
Too hollow to be home
Holy places are made of hearts and hands
The eternal pulse of blood
The gospel in a whisper
I’ll pray at your altar
Your bed is my church
Every brush of skin
Softened by warmth
Is a miracle
Every side eyed smile
Beckoned by laughter
Is a blessing
Blood and body is the church
Leaving kisses as communion
There is no holy truth
For I am holy
Only by you