G a t e

I check my watch in watch.

My betrothed devotion

Envelops itself

Inside

The chaotic conundrum

That resonates

In between the strides of

Your p a c e.

No psalm

Anymore,

Not

Between the linen bars;

No savoring…

Just fingernails and scars.

Your façade,

Your aristocracy,

Captivates the puttering

Wilt

Inside of me.

I’ve become a slain

Martyr

Laying

On the

Floor of you.

G a t e

I open mine;

Yours walks right through.