i’ll paint you to look like jesus // fit my fingers through your palms // say nothing about nails // crown your head with wildflowers // cut my fingers picking all the nettles out // kiss you for less than thirty silver pieces // kiss you for free // kiss you with my tongue between your teeth // learn to pray on my knees // google how to pray right // read a cosmo article on positions you might like // hold you tight like a good piece of wood // bark worship // photograph the sunlight haloing your hair // leave your mouth lipstick stained // makes it kind of hard talk to god straight-faced // order tap water at the bar // watch you turn it into wine // it’s not a crime if it’s a miracle at the same time // you’re like a poem in a bar room toilet stall // i tell you all the time how much i’d want you // even if there was nothing divine about you // hair like a willow tree blowing toward me // a cupid’s bow mouth and a brow like a drawstring // the neighbours bang the ceiling on the nights we sin too loud // i’m singing psalms into your mouth // we pack up to go to heaven in your chevy pick-up // the gps searches for paradise // and the radio’s singing gospel // i hang a rosary on the wing mirror // and a star of david for good measure // you can’t be too careful about these things // we stop at motels and dive bars // i draw you in erotic poses from porno mags // i hope your dad will forgive me

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Emma Buckley is a second year student of English and Creative Writing at Queen's University Belfast. Her work can be found in The Jumble and The Apiary. She herself can be found lost in a romantic daydream somewhere on campus.