we slept with donuts on our chests.
jelly & angel cream & old fashioned.
finger-smeared their sweet &
wiped palms on blankets. the moon 
candied herself & we wanted as she 
took a seat in a wooden pew.
we tried so hard to disciple
all across the week. cupped our
cherries & carried them down 
to where other dogs whimpered
at windchimes. sharing food
is a form of severing. here is
what my mouth would have known.
in the church of our sugar no one 
had enough. only the stars shed
their skin. we held tight 
to everything. stapled windows shut. 
locked the cabinets to prevent 
morsels from escaping. spoons 
for forearm bones, we prayed
by opening wide as we could. let him
see all the years of eating 
we'd contained. there's a lot you can learn
by peering down a throat :
how did this person survive their februaries?
what can they certainly not live without?
for me its the donuts. i prefer powdered.
all the remnants they leave. 
white foot prints 
leading down into my pulpit.
i can't sleep with all the chewing
but i can at least join in. on the sidewalk
glass red horses are on their way 
to be sucked on & lollipops wink 
innapropriately at every passerby. 
it didn't always used to be like this.
sometimes, we used to settle down
& just bite celery for a week or two.
not anymore. not anymore. god said
the way to salvation is through 
pleasure. then he just laughed
& returned to his restaurant 
at the impossible part of town. 
we hope he will come munch with us
one night. i leave donuts 
on my windowsill. i dream i'll glimpse
his hand reaching 
& grasping one tight. then
*chewing noises*

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