The gold concave shells on the east park cathedral
sang songs of silence
with forgiveness trapped in every note;

the gears moved and squeaked
on that hollowed bell tower
(and all I can hear are the murmurs
of those gears rotating in agony to bring me to sleep.)

White skinned queen glares
reflection of a million spectrums that just pass through
people’s translucent glass chest

(and she walks down the aisle;
her face—flood ravished)

The groom waits
like a God on an altar,
perfectly smiling with grace etched
on his face.

The ravishing flood around the town
became the wine that intoxicated them.

This is the lonesome leaf they waited to see
to fall down from a withering tree.
This is how they make cheap whiskey and *****.

I remember when I was flooded
by the light this ring on my finger reflected.

I remember when tasting your lips
is enough to intoxicate me into a sweet lullaby.

Because your lips are pages of a bible—
(because your promises are gospels.)

I’ll wait here on these cathedral steps
that were once filled with my footprints,

Because I still remember how your words clang
like a bang from that bell tower—I remember
how you said “I promise, I’ll come back.”