Religious Sensitivities

It hurts my feelings,
this lump of heart and soul,
eons in the making,
gathering together my humanity
into something presentable
only to have you taking it
 with a grain of salt,
 being skeptical, doubting,
 and awaiting proof.

Whole Grain

Wind weaves through my wheat,
 tender nubs heavy with grain
 lifting up to the sky.
They bask.
Would your giant hand brush through them,
 feel their thoughtless, supple stipples
  bounce upon your flesh
  before they burn brittle?
Just whim and
 I gasp as your nails unearth
  the moist crumbles of my cake.
Fallow me
 easily as deep as an entire man.