I'll (tel)evangelize your soul
until you are hung with halos
standing in a suspect line with
starcrossed saints and
sunburnt sinners
the officers know all of your middle names.
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look i've sunk to cliches for you
because my knees dont bend
only my knuckles do
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with bone china faces
we become ageless, airkissing
battered cheeks with the weight of the albatross
hung about our necks
we become narrow-winged
alabaster birds
sitting on your banister
we cut ourselves into gypsum and pyrite
because the weight of the WANTING
(it's ringed around our necks
swinging against our ventricles
shattering our voiceboxes)
clips our wings and
sinks our coffins
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