( there is no honey in his kiss and you have too much
yesterday to look for tomorrow: everything is spinning spinning
like the beginning of the end - )

but the silent places in you are filled with your inadequacy
and there is no salvation come sunday. only a ghost of what might
have been and the holes in your skin.

you cling to him like wet velvet.

now it is lust and vanity, curling your fingers and closing
your eyes. you are saying prayers to a god you never believed
in anyway and nothing for faith but this brutality,
like the way you speak to ghosts when you should
be doing laundry.

( - your last moment is red wine sour; the veil is ripped
away. you see and do not understand. even as it stains
your mouth, regret is a word
you never knew. )