in the deepest skin

it’s been six weeks. is it wrong to succumb?
i’ve run out of places to hide, but i keep you.
i keep you out. see the tombstones bow,
make light of the testimonies etched in rain.

it’s all a funeral now
and we’re not covered by anything.
love is too late. is never too late.
is not what i thought it would be.
i would know. i gave my tongue to girls
clothed with the sun who towered over me
when the morning knew no light.

hers was the kingdom. the rose of sharon.
the one who moaned babylon into my wounds.
who cried heaven when the angels
dragged her from the sky.
who cried father when the thorns
pricked honey from his skin.
who cried and cried god
with the eyes of magdalene.

hers is the valley. the lilies.
the wilted voice, how the vowels surge.
skin of my skin, our offspring
lives in the rain and i want to recover.
i want to follow you to where
the deepest spirits go.

we could light candles.
we could lie for forgiveness.
we could dethrone our souls and suffer
for the sake of each other’s guilt.
the wicked fall, love.
we could fall.

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