you recite the
lord's prayer
but i don't
hear a
messiah
whispering in
my skull

you read me
lines from the
Dhammapada
but i do not
care for the
Buddha's boorish
proverbs and
tired truisms

i can only
focus on the
inflection
in your voice
when you pause
in the space
between words

i can't see you smile
but i can hear you
catching your
breath as heat
spreads across
your cheeks and
you free slick fingers
from wet pink flesh

you're burning in
the poems you
read at a secluded
café on Thornton
silhouetted by light
like a beacon of hope
a lighthouse guiding
me back home

your words are
the  rope i
knot about
my throat
kick the chair
beneath my feet
and leave me
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