Altars and bedposts
Self-pity, slave to redemption,
relishing in sin, resolute on change
gripping altars and bedposts–
Oh, the place of forever forgiveness:
begging for another antithesis of happiness,
seduced by clean slates and benevolent determination
yearning to scrawl dirt on this dead man’s walls
emphasizing my empathy for the lonely,
you forgive my forever forgiveness
or chalk another tally of public propitiation?
Happiness. . .I think not
When you wish,
make a list,
and finally open it
(happiness). . .I think not.
I love you, yes, but cannot lie:
I waste time lying in your arms.
Does guilt consume when I kiss you?
I feel alive only when second-guessing?
There is no space; time stops
There is no space; time stops between thoughts of you.
Which is greater? My anxiousness at seeing you or
my disappointment when it is not you?
My happiness for
The scent of your body is my food restoring me
Your hug pulls me along as I plod on my path
“Mercy!” I scream when you look at me.
Thankful you are four seats down from me
For I would never see the chapel speaker,
If you were across the way from me.
It scares me when I imagine spending a month without you.
I’d make it through holding my Father’s hand.