The world moves slower, lost heaven’s scent ruminating through faith’s end. Neglected
love thins inside my head to an urge of memories wanting new births, not a photograph
of starlight perfidies lacking unique brights. Without his touch
his careless mannerism flowing in and out, snafuing my control. Feeling
a sea opening inside, tempting me to escape into his vindictive, rattling eyes.
Walking with the Devil is not wise, but it tastes like Sunday right
the sins of heresy in each kiss where my lips whisper, “Go…