You don’t believe in god, but she looks and feels like religion.
Her lips are your sacramental wine, her hands your holy communion.
She is worshipped not because she is beautiful (but god, did the lord put extra time into making her), but because she gives off an aura of divinity.
People flock to her, wanting to give her their lives, show her their devotion and you were not immune to the intensity that drew them in.
She brings you to your knees, you pray to that goddess that is her,
hoping she will bless you in the ways that only a woman like her can; with love so passionate the angels open up your roof to watch.
You think about that beautiful woman and worry, not because you think she will not want you, she loves the attention, the devotion, she lives off of others wanting to be with her, to be her.
No, you worry because you know she will want you, she will want you and everything about you, you are similar in many ways, you both have fire in your veins, kindred thunderstorm souls.
And you worry that a love as mighty as hers might burn you from the inside out, she is too much woman, too much emotion, too much love em and leave em.
The only difference is, she doesn’t mind being that way.