Our Bedroom Felt Like a Revival

A cycle of poems «You Taught My Hands How to Pray on Your Body»

The walls used to tremble when you walked through the door,
Not from thunder or storm - but the weight of something more.
A hush in the air, like a hymn about to start…
Our bedroom felt like a revival of heart.

We didn’t need pulpits or candles lit high -
Just your skin on my skin beneath midnight sky.
You’d whisper my name like a prayer I believed…
And suddenly, darling, my soul was relieved.

Our bedroom felt like a revival,
Where sin turned to grace in the way that we smiled.
No choir could match how we sang in the dark,
Hearts beating loud like a revivalist’s spark.
We were lost, then found in the heat of the flame -
Two broken souls calling each other by name.

We made love like prophets who finally saw light,
Like exiles returning from endless night.
Your fingers traced verses down my spine like psalms,
And every scar healed where your touch played its calm.
No sermon could’ve saved me the way that you did -
One kiss, and I knew I was chosen, not sinned.

We didn’t need pulpits or candles lit high -
Just your skin on my skin beneath midnight sky.
You’d whisper my name like a prayer I believed…
And suddenly, darling, my soul was relieved.

Our bedroom felt like a revival,
Where sin turned to grace in the way that we smiled.
No choir could match how we sang in the dark,
Hearts beating loud like a revivalist’s spark.
We were lost, then found in the heat of the flame -
Two broken souls calling each other by name.

Mornings came slow with your head on my chest,
Breathing like worship, putting demons to rest.
Sunlight would stream like a blessing poured down,
Gilding the sheets where salvation was found.
We didn’t speak much - we didn’t have to -
Love had already said everything true.

Now the room stays quiet, the bed barely crests,
Empty like pews after all the faith left.
I light one small candle, just hoping, just vain…
That holiness might come back again.
But revival don’t visit without the right flame -
And yours was the only one worth my name.

So I close up the curtains, let shadows reclaim
The altar we built out of passion and pain.
No gospel will play where you’re not here to call -
Our bedroom was heaven…
And now it’s an empty revival hall.