I scraped the face of god

not hard enough to break skin,
but enough to gather His oil
under my fingernail, I dug it out and rubbed
the glitter between my pointer
and thumb—lightning bolt veins
beam across his forehead,
hot to the touch—
his nose, a wooden bridge,
his skin, a scotch stained fitted sheet,
his lips like a heart pulled apart at the side seams,
his smile—a hammock hung between two oak trees,
hands like cowhide, riverbed, burlap bag—
he brought one to his mouth
and shushed me