Beneath your lungs,
there's a tiny church,
a chapel I built and hid inside you,
one day while you were sleeping.
When you breathe, I put my head to your chest
and listen to the tolling of bells.
I look into your eyes and I see
glass windows stained with blood
smeared into the shapes of saints,
their halos as bright as my love for you.
I've changed you, but you don't know it.
I've altered you with an altar to us.
You think the prayer-pressed palms are for you,
the worship-scraped knees, but
there's a part of me next to your heart,
and I can reach in and crush it any time I want.

01/20/2015

Posted on 01/20/2015
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