this gin-heavy heaven, blessed ground to think gay & mean we. bless the fake id & the bouncer who knew this need to be needed, to belong, to know how a man taste full on vodka & free of sin. i know not which god to pray to. i look to christ, i look to every mouth on the dance floor, i order a whiskey coke, name it the blood of my new savior. he is just. he begs me to dance, to marvel men with the dash of hips i brought, he deems my mouth in some stranger’s mouth necessary. bless that man’s mouth, the song we sway sloppy to, the beat, the bridge, the length of his hand on my thigh & back & i know not which country i am of. i want to live on his tongue, build a home of gospel & gayety i want to raise a city behind his teeth for all boys of choirs & closets to refuge in. i want my new god to look at the mecca i built him & call it damn good or maybe i’m just tipsy & free for the first time, willing to worship anything i can taste.