Time judged the sins
of the son. The Sun
shone on the rot in
my soul, and dried
that wound, so I could
go on. Young and bold,
I found pleasure in
the warmth of flesh,
and I learned that
it was not a sin, at all. Continue reading “Son – Trinity, Pt. Two”
The boiling heat
begins at dawning.
Simmering? Sheets,
salt-wet, by morning.
Youth’s fever-dream,
guilt, ever-wrongful,
burns us deeply,
skin-scarring along
the maker’s seams.
We boil with longing. Continue reading “Father – Trinity, Pt. One”
Don’t dance
if you can’t
stand the heat
of a burning floor
under burning feet. Continue reading “Dancer”