[Needs title]

I don't usually do this, but without april meeting in person, I'm thinking it's the only way. And yes, aa, this has gone beyond you. In some ways.


He goes quiet
removes his hands from my shoulders
the smile dropped from his face
his shoulders tight
back hunched, head bowed low.


He prays in his poetry
makes me the virgin mary,
lowercased, shrouded
figure in blue, waiting
for someone else
to point the way to heaven.


He prays in his poetry;
and this is not a love song—
it is confession: I kneel
waiting for his hands to return,
to find my shoulders.