Long days. Night slithers through
the door and I reach for you.
I believe in the wisp of
twilight, the smell of dope
and your arm around my
shoulder. The cross we bear.
The map of night is written
and I must go. Never, the
tears. I stare at your mouth.
We kiss the chalice of each
others love. The mass of
yesterday sanctified a long
litany of love unanswered.
I hate the sound of the bells.
I am brought to my knees. An old woman genuflects, A tear falls.
I confess my sins but never
you.
You, you belong to the
dusking dreams.
Caroline Shank
May 28, 2021
May 28, 2021 at 3:16 PM UTC
Long days. Night slithers through
the door and I reach for you.
I believe in the wisp of
twilight, the smell of dope
and your arm around my
shoulder. The cross we bear.
The map of night is written
and I must go. Never, the
tears. I stare at your mouth.
We kiss the chalice of each
others love. The mass of
yesterday sanctified a long
litany of love unanswered.
I hate the sound of the bells.
I am brought to my knees. An old woman genuflects, A tear falls.
I confess my sins but never
you.
You, you belong to the
dusking dreams.
Caroline Shank
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