The Smell of Old Church

I love the smell of old church
The silence when no one is there
I’ll lie on the floor and stare at the ceiling
It’s weird but I don’t care
The stained glass patterns I reorganize in my brain
Putting the blue with the red and the burgundy stain
We can talk about anything, everything
And the silence is like your smile over me
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I love the slanted roof, the old wooden panels
They reach up to meet one another. The warm air
Because if it’s not how is anyone to fall asleep
If the sermon is too boring or nobody cares?
I love the frayed cushions on the seats
With the broken armrests and unbalanced legs
I can wobble them for hours with nothing to blame my distraction on
But a broken peg
I love old churches,
I love churches
When nobody but me is in them