Would I be forgiven,  
if I lay with my cheek
pressed flat against the *****
of the grass,  
sparkling
with last nights rain that came
in startling sheets,  
as heavy
as the shame, wrapped
around my heart in threads  
woven
out of calculated missteps,

Would I awaken  
as fresh and fragrant
as their small green bodies
bodies that bend softly
under the kiss gifted  
by the morning mist,  
shivering
under frosted silver cloaks  
in anticipation
of the suns awakening.

Tell me, would I be forgiven?