Love is a temple

"Love is a temple," said Bill. He was leaning his chair back on two legs, staring up at the ceiling and tapping his pen against his teeth.
"A temple to which god?" I asked. The espresso machine was whistling oddly and I tapped the pressure gauge.
"Um, the god of love, of course."
"Which one? There are a few."
"Well...," Bill shrugged, nearly catapulting himself backwards off his chair. "Cupid then, he's the one you get on Valentine's Day."
"The little kid with wings? That doesn't sound like the kind of love I'd want to see."
"Hey, not like that!"
I tapped the pressure gauge again and the little needle rose. I thought it might be sticking. "Look, if you want a temple to kiddie-fiddling, be my guest. Just don't invite me to come and watch. Or worship, for that matter."
"It's not a kiddie-fiddler temple!" Bill's chair came back down onto four legs with a clatter. "It's a temple of love, pure and unsullied."
"Involving children."
"NO! Look, it's from a song, alright? You know, 'Love is a temple, love is a shrine,'?"
"You get yours at the five and dime," I continued, nodding my head and checking the pipes at the back of the espresso machine. They were quivering, which seemed like a bad sign.
"What?"
"Well, you do," I said. "That one last week, for example."
"Morel, you mean."
"She has a name now? Well, she must have given you change from a ten, or she was ripping you off. Hang on, a morel's a type of mushroom!"
"Shut up. Just shut up, and don't pretend you don't hire the odd working girl now and 'then."
"Of course I don't, I don't like girls that way." I tapped the pressure gauge harder; the whistling's pitch was increasing and making me uncomfortable. "And yours aren't just odd, they're factory rejects. Morel looked like she had to shave places humans don't have hair. Is she going to be in this temple of yours?"
"Look, there's no damn temple any more, ok? Just shut up about it."
"Closed down already? That's the problem with organised religion these days, there's no staying power. Now, you take your classical Judaistic beliefs... ok, actually I think we should leave."
"My coffee?" Bill stood up, and I dodged past him, heading for where we'd forced the coffee-shop window.
"Something's blocked in there," I called, as he realised what I was doing. "I'm pretty sure it's like Morel!"
"Like Morel?"
"Going to blow!"