I've accidentally used your toothbrush a few times.

I can never remember what color I am,

Except at your place where, obviously, I'm the pink one.

"I didn't get it cuz you're a girl," you said.

But now...

I know exactly which is yours.

I pick up the green one, next to my blue,

clutch it in my hands like a Bible over an open fire.

Knowing, if I let go

I'm admitting

There is no God.

That turning our backs on this temple does nothing.

No more of your silly Egyptian dance by the sink,

Hips knocking together, bones locking in tune,

Open mouths laughing... minty kisses collecting the sound.

Everything we hold sacred

turns to sin.

Wrapping your long arms around me from behind.

Wiggling your eyebrows at our naked form in the mirror.

Singing hymns into my hair...

The quirks that make up our church.

I close my eyes and try to feel you out there

across the concrete river between us, in your basement sanctuary

Maybe you're holding my pink toothbrush in your hand too

wondering what to do.

I don't feel you.

I used to feel you out there.

Always.

Even when you were half a world away.

But believing in us

is blasphemy

if you don't believe

in me.

With a silent prayer,

I let the toothbrush fall from my fingers

into the trash.