I mentally pace back and forth tracing and tracking my train of thought and somewhere along these ragged,ratchet lines I get lost
My past right behind me has had it claws waged into my soul and regrets make their way to my tongue and come out as my apologies of unerasable black ballpoint markers that have mummified my previous lovers.
I have stopped corpsing but these cadavers wont get it
I sat there with my bent vertebra making sense of these calcified skeletons that have made a home in my remodeled closet right after being thrown out.An Elijah to them.
Our love being crucified by them.
But I hope that love is like Jesus or that somewhere in his genetics love is Jesus because if he is, with three days of darkness a resurrection is long over due. His eye filled with uncertainty.Regret wipes his smile away in a heart beat. His kisses turn bitter still hoping that love is Jesus or is the son of Jesus or a cousin even because then the hope that his kisses will be kisses again.

your Love