Pull me down.
Hold me c l o s e.
You're the one,
I want the m o s t.

Breathe in deep.
Pull your h a i r.
You wanna be here,
I wanna be t h e r e.

What's old is dust.
And today is n e w.
You remake me.
I'll remake y o u.

**** and kiss,
and tongue and *******.
This is fate,
with a little l u c k.

past simple praise:
he loved me
but he loved his pain more

i pulled him into the bathroom once, it was dark
his warm fingers gently plucked at my heart
for some time
the way we kissed was art

his rhetoric far surpassed mine
every time
he asked me how my day was,
i proceeded to word *****
i talked about the most useless ****
when i asked him about his,
i got a shakespearean ******* sonnet

present perfect pain:
i have never been good at thinking things all the way through
and that is why i've fallen so deeply for people like you

well layers
are peeling
for Trump
as they
have come
to light
there in
New York
that still
flashes Hildebrand
deeply in
rhetoric while
Solzhenitsyn has
decried labor
camps and
Putin still
looks blank

when the majority claims the need
to violently fight for its minority rights
something is rotten in this nation

The words of empty rhetoric,
don’t impress the unsaved;
Love requires real actions
of Faith; one day, a grave

will contain soiled remnants
of how, we were perceived;
the memories others recall,
are what they often received-

by the witness of our lives.
Before men, we’re justified
through our works of Love;
yet, it’s Christ crucified…

that serves as the impetus
behind our true motivations;
He’s the standard for living
and grace against damnation

of our eternal souls.