my heart is a mushed mess of roses

my heart is a mushed mess of roses

sometimes he plays hard to find

like god, covering the face of moses
with the back of his palm
he'd shield the roadmap to his heart
with a smokescreen, walk past
her like a floating shadow
leaving behind scatter images of who he is

and she believes them

she holds these images sacred
like a nun does the effigy of mary
she kneels before a faux memory of him
to offer lip service of wanton wishes
oil his limbs with juices of affection
and raise a 'hallelujah' to his sneezes

b(e)less me!

sometimes, he wishes she could see
beyond the mask that veil his 'i am'
the one who's stabbed with the kisses
is judas, and sold for morsel of moans
the one who's bruised his ego
for the stalling arrival of his lover's sole
the one who's chastised for indulging a depressed soul
the one who wrote lamentations on scrolls of gold while roses he nursed
melted in the sun

and so he was crucified between two eves—
one, the past, the other that'll come to pass,
heart crossed never, maybe forever, to rise again
because clouds dismiss every sun day
of resurrection, his remains cremated
dispersed in the winds

my heart is a mushed mess of roses

for this deity walks this crust adorned in the flesh of me

please, say a prayer for this forgotten deity
his faithful is having a hard time finding him
in the shadows of her own boxed philosophies

please, also pray his masks come off
like the curtains that veil the holy of hollies
so that his gentile could tangle his jew
and one becomes the dream of two

#Pengician #SSA

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