By Jonathan Hunter-Kilmer
rough and wet
the tearing face
hidden self-imposed disgrace
sentenced in and subject to
conscience
wielding vise and screw
pliers gouge and tacks suspent
drape and pullthe corners mend
holes and fabric
rend and twist
spray the mind
a helpless mist
scruffy
doesn't “clean up good”
wearing silk
as garbage would
dressed as must
and still as dust
swept and dropped
in ash can
rust
claims the victim
drying wet
ooozing wound
I'll not forget
in the hand
that touches me
cares and steers
and gracefully
place
the bent fragility
of the soul
eternal saved
brought with You out of the grave
pink and raw the bride
the bride awaits
past that which excruciates
marveling
I supplicate
in Your radiance I fade
to myself
for You as bade
in Your hands my life carressed
bruised and bloodied
heaving chest
chains evaporated by
close You breathe
I gasp reply
and delighted,Lover, cry
