i found god once
at a dive bar in quezon city,
she was spinning
slow
above a dancefloor sticky with beer & absolution.
her light fell on
soft-butch jawlines
glitter-stained lips
girls in doc martens
& leather jackets that smelled like
rain & cigarettes & coming out too late.
we called it church
& no one laughed.
outside,
a man shouted in scripture
at no one in particular.
we turned up the music.
i am a lesbian the way saints are
on fire—
reluctant
radiant
willing to be burned for something
i cannot stop loving.
when she holds my hand in public
i flinch—
not because it’s wrong
but because someone once told me
everything beautiful was.
it isn’t.
it never was.
the bible never mentioned
how holy it feels
to slow-dance
with a woman
under a god
who just wants us
to repent for our sins.
somedays i think about leaving—
but metro manila is
the diner at midnight
her eyeliner smudged
her hand on my thigh
like a hymn.
god was there too
in the quiet
between bites of sisig
& the speakers whispering
every queer love song we needed
to remember
we are already
holy.