The space between us may be vast, a blend of darkened hues. You're so shiny on the outside but hollow in, like the cathedral.
Choir cues, glisten between her thighs and the stars align.
Praise our son, so new, crisp like an unused notepad.
Drive your quill right through my soul.
Don't think that I don't know him because I'm not on my knees.

Everyone's flesh tastes best after wine.
Gently pressing
your face into my chest, let me hear you.
I was there when you born.

When you can walk no more I carried your weight and my own guilt. Which is more than you can say.
Let my voice sound out like the guns that start a war.
Let us all know that she was called a whore.
Palms down, Psalms down, Candles lit.
Home aflame and they ran for days.
Veil across my face, keep the sand from my eyes, and the tears at bay...

Praise our Savior Christ with his copper crusted halo and paper thin skin. You don't believe, because you don't let it set in.
You DO believe, but you don't know what you're reading.
All babies speak the language first.
With a raised fist.
A moral you must've missed.

Amen.
-Saree McClaran
Nov 30th 2012