sitting on a curb in the rain,
i was addicted to nicotine and silver linings
always clasping my hands in prayer
for some ghost to take me.
in your genes i see firecracker windowpanes,
dosed in gasoline
your bruises were blessed by catholic priests
and the saints were singing your praises
sitting on church rooftops and asking
questions like,
"what's this pulsing in my chest?"
you told me it's god, like an ocean inside of me
no longer rotten and bruised.
for some reason i can't let go of you
with your tainted lips and scabby elbows
i drink you up out of dripping faucets
thirsty and wild-eyed
always craving more.
you used to be lightness, you know
like deep breaths and wind on leaf
lately you've let yourself absorb into black
where is your face?
where are your hands?
where have you gone?

*(a.m.c.)