Behind this righteous mask,
my mastery of emotion –
honed to a cutting edge,
is pitted against your leaving.
In this last touch
of brush to bare canvas–
your exposition fails to impress.
My words, spoken long ago,
echo back to me from your fair smile:
offered as a comfort in this graceless hour.
Received as a blade unsheathed
thrust bone deep and twisting.
I have made you in my image.
And though I smile
you see the wound you have made –
and my blood on the floor,
pooling between us.
With your hands, your mouth, your body –
you try to fill the swelling void
but we are beyond this union’s comfort.
The destruction of God is at hand.
I am mortal now.
In your mouth,
I read what I have done to you.
You smile and tease,
but your jaw is tight
and when they should be relaxed
your lips are pressed hard together,
damming the despondent torrent
behind your granite restraint.
Like water, I wore away at your
white cliffs of control.
Perseverance eroding that solid face.
I drew emotion from stone
like a sword, and leveled
a God with a swing of the blade.
I want to remember the God
as I move on into the light –
not this lonely mortal in need and bleeding.
August 14, 2006