Can you hear the war beats
trailing down the town like a lover’s kiss?

Faith is coming
and there’s no place to hide.

-

in the end, we know it's true
when the clouds billow with black fury
and bones seem to find their owner
we know it's true
when a robber glides through redemption gates
we know it's true
in the middle of a centurion's confession
we know it's true
when mourning gives way to morning
we know it's true

we know it's the first day

and we know that on the third day, we'll be on repeat
just that this time, the story ends with a rumbling
with an empty tomb
with a disappearance
with an appearance
with several appearances
with an Hallelujah tune

we know it's true

-

The wind has carried the news of our love from city to city
& now, the universe has handed us exam sheets.

No, these are not thorns
but black-petalled flowers walking backwards
testing our love
like reckless winds circling the Atlantic
pushing, pushing
waiting to see if the waters would have a fit
and spill over their boundaries.

But our love is not one that foams like an epileptic
- kicking without caution & crashing with drained momentum.

Our love is gentle. Our love is smooth.
Our love is the type you can roll between your fingers
between my lips;
in the crevice of your shoulders
in the bridge of my hips.

Our love is wild. Our love is sizzling.
Our love is not the type you can pocket in a storm.
Our love is the type that wears the storm out.

So even when dusk draws like a curtain
we're still writing
we're still answering questions
we're still on the list of the universe's lovers.
For he that drops his pen is one whose flowers
have taken the skin of smiling thorns.

-

I am no baker
and you are no heart-breaker
so I guess we can lose ourselves
in this moment of wonder.

There's me, waltzing to the music of six strings
and there's you, blurring my flaws with soul art.
Tell me, should we explore what this feeling brings
or should we glow in the suspense?

In this moment, love is the blend of breaths
on a phone call.
Love is a silky goodnight
with whispered emotions.

Love is me losing my rhyme in this poem.

I could call this moment a lot of things:
delight, joy, warm-throated pleasure.

I could call it WHITE:
heaven on earth.

-