ChurchOfPain
Posts: 3
Joined: 10/5/2005
Status: offline
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She seeks solace in Oolong tea, lemon scented soaps.
The hours hold a rosary across her lap like a spent child.
At night, subdued by candles, her face is gentled
by a wash of mercury vapor from the street lamp.
She sleeps knotted- the rope of a woman who needs
all her faith to believe she has not married poorly.
I measure her labor with pulleys, count each breath
until I know its length by the weight of her absence against me.
I make an abacus of her spine, the sum of her penance.
I go where the light goes when the flame is blown,
wait for the murmur at my ear,
the unquiet tongues of the saved.
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Binding God's Wife - 
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