I shrugged back on my scanty shirt
and told you to whisk away...

From stale mouth, I mutter, “How honeyed!”
and lumber shamefully away...

I must restrain from nursing you-
from thinking you and I are kin from common hurt...

That tornado is not mine.
My defects are far more elegant...

The mighty sun has seen
and beamed beneath my blunders...

I dropped into to the desperate dogma of a prayer.
Knees buckled on that ancient cathedral floor...

I will never fall through the stations again.
The panels of vibrant salvation...

Two weeks in-
the shell pealed back...

All strings of royal words that bob within my...
have slipped through my mouth and finger tips...

The Faith is mere mythology:
a siren song on a barren sea...

Those freckled runes he carves
on his wrists...

Logic is a crystal warrior
Brave face sculpted bright as a glacier...