A rap on the door and a lift to your hip. Heels in your back and that uncontrollable laugh. The summer sun burned holes through our love. It slipped from my fingers like an ill-fitted glove.

I guess you had enough.

Never a door to be knocked again. Never the flames in your eyes. Never grocery shopping and dog walking again. My ankles around your neck…never again…no more.

You abandoned me like your socks on the floor.

The bewildering crispening of a cold shoulder. A subtle shift of your weight. Like a gearbox and an acceleration. Away from me. This is a freeway. All chaos. With no way back to…us.

Blood red mother, hold me close. Let my pain transfer to your hem. Hold me. Hold them. When the foolish men pray for the dead to rise. Shield me from their lies. Make them cease. May the car crash victims find their peace.

Blood red woman, hold me tight. When the bike tire meets the t-bar and the skull greets it too. Rubies poured from his head. I think he thought he was dead. Hold him with a hymn. Cool the panic. A crown of jewels. Paramedic.

Blood red saint, hold me fast. Don’t hate my future or romanticize my past. Your womb, she blessed you. Is there a blessing left for me? A son who’s not your son. Bleeding out on the lawn. Let it be.

I once yearned to be close to god. Whispering prayers and ******* through violent pages. Spirituality comes in phases.

Would god look away as I thought of another man’s nectar on my lips? Pooling and dripping from the eclipse of our hips. Would god gasp at the flesh within my grasp? Would god leave me alone in the dark as the seed is spilled into my ark?

I no longer think of god. Or liturgies. Or of words on pages distorted to manipulate through the ages. Turn your eyes from me, oh god. For I am close. Oh my god I’m close. I feel the truth erupt from within and it’s sweeter than fructose.

I’ve touched the heavens. It’s gates are pearls on my chest. Sanctified in sugar. Baptized in a batter of leavened bread. I am holier than I’ve ever been. Prove me wrong when I’m dead.

Some tethers cannot be severed. I remind myself of this amidst the distance. A ******* doctor and his husband stitch. Sometimes a father impedes the celestial bond of a boy and his mama. And that’s a *****. That’s a trauma. But the stars can heal us. Mothers. Sons. Papa’s too. I want to shatter every tradition. Let the blooded cords renew. I’m here. I never left. My honesty is not a theft. I just want your love…not a miracle. And there is nothing more biblical than that which is umbilical.