poetry Short Stories Uncategorized

while angels are at war

the skyline of the early evening city
rising behind
soaring diocese minarets
and crucifix adorned steeples

a cathedral flanked by
brick and mortar chess pieces
surrounded by cloudy machinations

god is content this night
to reign only in heaven

for the king is not yet dead
and bishops must be guarded
by mortal men

we glide across marble tiles
fingers laced together
to find our way into the sanctuary

you anoint my head and yourself
after threshold is crossed

asking me to look to the choir loft

the pipe organ sings out not to heaven
instead pleading sympathy for the devil in hell

our laughter causes the sainted statues to turn their heads

swords collide in the painted ceiling
their embers fall
burning our skin

you pull me into
the red velvet confessional
by my waist

i wish to be captured

plunging your hands into my hair
lips pressed to mine in worship

pleading to a heart full of grace

you say,

“my queen, you make me feel so alive…”

i am undone

as beads fall slowly
to the floor

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