her chocolate cheek quivers
like the dying strings on a guitar
as it pulls away from mine
the curl of three fingers
covers her mouth
eyes pregnant and moist
Don’t cry I say to her
though my heart
wants to whisper
the world always welcomes
this kind of downpour
true lovers of God fully prostrate knees chest arms and face on grimy tile filthy carpet leaf litter even rough gravel to slather their affection onto Him with such feeling and practiced devotion t
your soul is like a horse that tires of the well-worn path to the trough the same dry oats and brittle straw the smell and gloom of a familiar stall the muscles of your chest pressing a little too har
pull and drip pull and drip pull and drip a golden smudge spreads across an arc of indigo sky the sun yellows the church tower chases candlelight back through windows and around the shadows of ruffled