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About This Poem
Sunday Church
I see the pastor each Sunday prepping
the flock, pulling us all in, to be more
committed to justice issues. But as I
hear your voice all I can think of are
your full red lips and what it would be
like to kiss them.
After the sermon we all go outside and
mingle, until I see you again and my
heart rises in a panic. You come over
to me to ask me something and my
knees start to buckle...I answer sparingly.
I'm obsessed: how does one ask the
pastor out on a date? Or would that be
just church communal suicide?
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