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I do not pray to god

I pray to the rolls of flesh on my friends’
and the wetness behind our ears

I pray gasping under the surface
of Lake Michigan, palm
to palm with siblings who
do not let go

I am praying with my toes in the grass and
every time I catch the lavender sky

I pray in my sleep


I do not pray to god

I pray to the best sex I’ve ever had and
how good my tits look
in a tank top

I pray with my strap
and my fingers inside you
and the money I spend so we can have nice

I pray on my knees; I pray with my mouth
if it’s not praying I won’t do it

when you live in the eye of the storm,
is prayer
           and does not have to be called marriage, nor
god, nor an afterlife*

sometimes I forget that I am praying
but I never forget to pray


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