if God was an Englishman | poetry series (8)

I want a ferocious God, I want fierce 3am fights

I want the neighbours to come knocking at our door.

I want flowers, dead and alive, I want deep dark red wine, and to cry down the phone with you - one of those phones with wire you can wrap around your fingers for hours.

I want storms, malicious fevers of passion that burn out when i’m tired.

I want fits of uncontrollable laughter at dirty jokes, and your mother to talk about me unkindly behind my back

I want to be saved by someone that needs saving too.

I don’t want to be just good, I want to be a screaming child, a drunken teenager, a wise old man

I want to taste the poison of bad humanity, and the sweetness of the good.

I want God to look at me and say “you weren’t all good, and you weren’t all evil, you were the ocean, you were the rock that it crashed into, you were waves of violent rage”.