she doesn't believe in god, but she
goes to church with him on sundays
and when they get home, they
sin. (don't tell his mother.)
her sunday dress ends up near the
front door, his shoes next to the stairs,
his tie over the banister, and her
underwear in the hallway.
they end up on his bed. sweaty
skin and soft touches and
whispered 'i love you's from under
the covers of a faith they both
know he doesn't care for
anymore (he's just too scared to
say it).
'it's okay' she whispers afterwards,
tracing the freckles on his back and carving
her words into his skin. there's one, two,
three seconds of quiet and then, over
his shoulder, comes 'i know'.
but he doesn't. and maybe it's
not okay after all.