There was no time
there was never
enough.

It was hard enough
for me
to sit beside you
and not stroke your leg
like a crystal ball
and feel you beneath
your trembling skin.

It doesn't make sense
to have all this religion
and nothing
resembling
truth.

When you got up to go
to the bathroom
I took notes
on your hips.

How your thighs swayed
against the weight
of a poverty of faith.

Split apart skies
by lightning
bolts from some
jealous gods
seemed to crack
your iris's.

Mistrust from the past
pain kept you
held in a barricade,
a battalion
against your better will
to gather my
unchained love.

When you sat back beside me
I was afraid
that you would look at me
like a stranger
that had studied
every line of your body.

Your lips remain unknown,
and the thunderous crack
of breaking steel
withdrew inside of me
as I wanted
more.

As I wanted to know
what had happened
to make you so vicious.

Vicious love
made for a vicious lover
for a vicious
interpreter
that took notes
on a ****-poor notepad
yearning for a faith
in the spirit
that leapt up against my fingers
underneath your skin.