Confetti and Communion

Confetti and Communion
A poem by the Dandy Saint

I drink my grace from crystal flutes,
not chalice, nor confession booth—
but laughter spilling down the aisle,
and sequins shining proof of truth.

The saints wear feathers, lace, and sin,
they dance where sermons should begin;
we break our bread in candlelight,
with glitter on our porcelain skin.

Forgive me, Lord, I’ve kissed the night,
and found You glowing in its gleam;
each disco ball becomes a sun,
each sinner’s sigh—a holy dream.

My gospel hums in sax and drum,
the choir sways, the halos hum;
we toast to tears and resurrection,
in lipstick-stained communion cups.

For love is loud, and joy profane,
and holiness a mess well-named;
so raise your glass and bow your head
salvation sparkles, unashamed.

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