secret flowers hidden in my chest
ever day I wake up to do my best
the prayers of yesterday still linger
on my distracted, rolling fingers
a sacral image tattooed with Grace  
etched upon my heart, Christs face
no denomination here, just love
properly suiting me like a glove;
Sanctity cannot be seen but can be felt,  
a deliquesce thing that comforts, melts.