Faith, love, or charity pick the one that doesn’t bleed.

There is the moon, it is dead, and it floats away from us. This knife is not keen;

the light catches on the edge. It holds nothing, the slightest twist and it is empty.
It is not a hammer. 

Let me rub out the truth between your thighs, vicodin and peyote, any chemical

excrement will do. I can’t say fuck, but I know it is sacred. Panties snagged by
coarse fingers, winds too dull to tear.

I wait between the air and the expectation. A heaven not in season to bloom

has settled here in silence.

I am supine, a line drawn, a horizon open. Liminal. I am a fly in your honey,

my tongue knows no language but your sweetness. That is a lie, I have licked the shit
from my fingers. There are words that will not forget, always landing on the wrong
side of hell. I love you so badly you would think it was malice that struck these matches.

 Where is paradise now?

.