I didn’t say I loved you but I did
and also him, the one who stole away,
with all my sacraments
wrapped in his curling laugh,
thief of my night.
We find ourselves together,
cobbling a mystery of fleshes
and regrets dressed as desires.
You do not want the light on,
I want it off; the same, but different.
I know my own sins only.
We use each other as shields
for losses, for purified rites
we cannot will into substance,
attempting an alchemy of bodies
into redemption or any tarnished virtue;
obsession an immaculate conception.
Lose myself, explore you, find him.
The breath is much the same,
though skins differ in terrain, in taste.
We take this host, belief beaming
from shuttered eyes to make faith;
searching for what is already known,
but has merely been divinely misplaced.