I watched you always
through layers of sea
salted satin and holy oil.

The face of a churning
stomach, the incense of your fingers
and the hailed
embrace of the cathedral. Kneeling on
the floor of the ocean or a prayer bench.

You lead me, always,
through the tunneled,
or the flicker of rounded
sounds and  whispered pews.

Through clouded words  
and anointed promises.
It's cold enough to taste you
in this storm of twenty something verses, hailed
and poured from mouth to mouth.

A shaking hand
and the crumbling of bread:
something outstretched and sinful.
Perversions of a theme.  

You were my
mask and I wore you
out, with time and mercury
poisoning.

In the drenching warmth I see you now:
A song and a purpose.
A verse and a lie.