these years have meted their costs from my skin.
what good i had has evaporated out of my blood, leaving only
the discontent, the agonist, the lie. on this morning
the rain falls, drop by drop, and i run from each,
from your hands on my skin, from absolution.
between these pale grey walls i am struck, pinned and wriggling.
after years of chameleon tactics, camouflaged silhouettes,
here finally i am visible, and terrified. 
here i am searching, i am lost, lost, lost. 
your breath is a command and treks me closer to grace,
closer to heat, closer to god. there is always one path
i know i can find without light, reading only 
the direction of your hips, where all of me will bloom
then fall. in the white halo of my throat where your hands
pressed, left, and in the morning your name is in my mouth
a realized prayer all its own. i would leave a trail
here too: remember my wet. you are king of my mouth
and i am loyal, loyal, loyal.