Love was genius; weeping low, trespassing, I wonder what God adheres to. Rawness. Back at it, thrown into it, the laws emote. The empire, Jesus, threshed in tender rain, taking portions of the soul. To partake of pains, to watch something you love, to see it killing life. (Too understanding.) It becomes nightfall, during bright and desperate skies, a child kept praying, how did he keep faith? In truth, its damaged; and two adore like coyotes, so many crevices on dice—arguing over a fever. They never included me. I was deeper into it. Angered over swag. Knees to carpet; many will seek solace. What if nothing soothes it—just pacification? To find it intensifies; a lowness becoming natural—in its absence, like hell broke loose. Like a pit at it, gila monster angst, laughing in pain. Big smiles, desperate to believe it, a short trip to graves—lost on wings, another hundred, a neat grimace, a wild bottle of sin. I never asked for a monopoly on it. If it’s mine, I need not ask. So many indecent games, I make quickness to congratulate those most important to her. And Love keeps a space for us, to be what I lean into. Beyond a lease. I keep to guts, kneeling at a temple, part of a legacy, proud to have spirit resurrection. It was never as I saw it. It was ever on a different level. So close to religiosity, throttled by spirits, watching how close it gets.
