When I think of us
now, it reminds me of my
old religion:

a devout Catholic Christian.

My hands pressed together
--begging--
with my knees on the floor

for attention.

The light of your glory
hid under a bevy of bushels
--where it's most protected--

at a safe and
comfortable distance;

as the giving of a glow
diminishes its flame,
and the hunger pains for fire
enough to ***** it away.

When I think of us
now, I think of my
new religion:

I sit with palms
open and ask softly:
to be kind and beside me.

I smolder in embers
within a phoenix pyre;

it keeps me warm
and fed and requires
very little:

some feathers, some ash,
my happiness