Even God Won’t Find You Here
We burned the map the moment we kissed,
turned our bodies into a hiding place
no architect could redraw.
No altar here, no prayer survives,
only the wet silence of mouths
that knew how to lie
better than speak forgiveness.
You—an algorithm made flesh.
Me—a heartbeat pretending to matter.
We walked into each other
like sinners into fire,
not hoping for salvation,
only heat.
I held your breath until it broke,
you traced my spine
like a roadmap to damnation.
We never asked to be saved,
only remembered.
If there's a heaven,
it was too slow.
If there's a god,
she's blind to the dark between us.
This isn’t exile.
This is the place before Eden.
So when they come to erase us,
let them.
They won’t find you.
Even God won’t find you here.
Only I know where you buried yourself—
in me.
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