I strongly doubt that myself have met the one beloved to God, that
even after we’ve aparted for so long,
everything around me still lighting up the mosaic pieces of us, like
HE laid his finger tip on my skull,
progressively shining through the gleam
of we’ve played the game,
of we’ve paved the drive,
of we’ve talked about the nymph.
HE whispers through my ears,
intrusively watering inside the gossip
that shall anything against you not be told,
that shall any locale about you not be relinquished,
that shall any memories of you not be washed.
HE supervise me as the worst unfaithful student,
with all her lousy picture assignments and composition sheets.
HE silently blames me for my hesitatoin but giving of his compassion,
saying behind the truth is only void if all from the past doesn’t exist.