Under the shade of a red sky,
I’m reminded of the immaculate
warmth that is on the other side,
with the sun as piercing as her smile –
heaven’s smile that remains splintered
under the skin.
Even the ocean can flower
the air, and leave the sky
patched with tearful clouds
that persist itself seasonally,
as if the seconds held another brand new season,
and this void becomes more real.
The leather of my skin
Can only keep you so warm,
And yet so elegantly pressed,
But your satisfaction makes
You colder and more crude.
The motor of heaven ceases
To continue without your attention,
and it listens to your soft words of prayer
as it bleeds through you in weakness.
And to whomever your prayer reaches,
still the two heavens know
of the broken
face that is unworthy to mend.