kicked out of bed
by a god i
don’t even believe in;
there was no room left
at the inn
between you and your righteousness

you unwound the warmth from your legs
and gave me your back,
tacitly damning me to hell
for refusing your blessings,
for denying i had anything to confess,

so instead i wrapped myself
in a blanket and the moonlight
poured in by the window
insistingly left open,
curled into a ball
of affronted atheism
on the couch.

[3 hours later,
when i was still awake
and you were waking,
dressing yourself in armor
for the day’s assaults,
you picked up your keys without turning the lights on,
you left without goodbye
but with me wounded,
eyes screwed up
against a truth that
such a little thing
as God
could come so far between us.]