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.