By the window she wavers,
elegance and grace
unfolding from the movements of her gloved hands.

Animated red lips
move with skill
as she tells a tale
that would make sailors blush.

Eye's flashing and dashing
like the lighthouse
in the middle of a storm.

A whirlwind of blonde hair
who had fought with the wind
sits awry on her head.

I watch as her story unravels,
and the air around her buzzes
with her electric voice.

I make the mistake
of escaping with her wallet,
and am left to wonder,
how her story ends.

A woman and a knife:
The blade glistens,
ever sharply
in the rain that is pouring from heaven.

Her black hair sticks smartly
to the sides of a sharp face.
I trace my gaze
over a smart mouth
with red lips.

But her dark eyes
never falter with such desire.
Her cold stare ever fixated
on the knife's destination:

My chest.

I have sat in this one spot
for so long
I have grown roots deep in the ground here.

"Tell me, is it better to rip myself out
yet leave a piece of me
buried

Or is it better to stay,
and grow leaves of old age
in the same dirt
I was born in?"

I pray at night to the God who planted me
and all I hear back
is the wind.

The ground is
littered with orange peels
and the stain of citrus
is in the air.

Tender and juicy is the love,
I share my slices with you

Here I lay
at morrow's feet,
begging for yesterday's grace
to fill me once more,
so I may face the dawn.

I want religion wrapped in flesh.

I taste communion wine
and holy bread
when I kiss her.

I watch her bathe in holy water,
as the smell of frankincense and purity
wafts in the steam.

I see her crown
placed gently on the sink,
awaiting the return
of the one true queen.

I hear hymns
when she asks for a towel.

I think to myself
that she is God,
and keeps this from me
like a coy secret
only she can know.

She is religion wrapped in flesh.

I cup you in my hands
and imagine
that the size of your heart
is that of a fingernail;

Sometimes I worry
my love for you is so great
that it will crush you.