hey - you’re the one
waiting to be forever
spoken for, with your
new theology spun
into blades of grass
under our naked feet

and didn’t you say
(with gospel breath)
that days will drown
like rivers, and death
is fleeting, as you
believed you could be

it was so beautiful
hidden in our palms,
the deception you
wove into psalms,
as though it were
just a summer’s dream

but didn’t you leave
them blown in ages
so rare and untamed
that all sins remain
forgotten, like Eve,
in her garden shamed.

if words can halt
such decaying flesh,
and lies can heal
the dogma left
by laity's repentance -
then, dear, preach on.