The Angel’s son,
my only one-
whose fingers will comb my hair,
whose smile does follow me everywhere.
Inside this tired soul you silently crept,
and with fragile grace
you did erase
any tears I had wept.
To keep you with me always as mine
for eternity and then more time
would be a mother’s greed and sin -
for you belong to everything made of Heaven.
Used-
on hands and knees…
to mop up
the grease, the stench of your truth.
Rung out dry,
your filth fills buckets,
leaves me damp -
and Unholy.
With forked tongue you speak,
coiling around lovers and lies…constricting -
two puncture wounds into the neck
of innocence.
Only a grin,
half closed, satiated eyes,
in the face of love.
A life…your reward reaped…
As you slither away.
