Aimee Nicole

Sunday Service 

I want you to chain me
to the bed like a cross
fallen sideways.

Wind blew hard, lips pursed,
knocked Christ right over.

That tongue better start
singing hymns to my skin.
Wrap your beads around
my wrists until blood
draws in sacrifice. 

Reach hands up
high in worship.
This holy water
we blessed fogs
every window. 

Service only lasts
an hour before
we break bread.

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