I always asked, but He said what mattered first,
And I didn’t care if He meant it
Or not.
It was like music coming from His lips;
Sweet violin, with violent chords,
And magic on a summer night,
With it’s haunting wind like whispers.
Like candlelight
Swimming across your skin;
Like warm rain buzzing against your body,
Running down your face,
Soaking through your clothes.
But I asked first. Buzzed blonde hair and
A pink knit sweater, we snapped our
First picture together. Smiling faces painted over
Raw, red, itching skin. Painted on,
To cover secrets; things we wanted
To keep hidden. We helped each other peel back the layers.
I see Him now.
More than I saw Him then. Like unwrapping
Sand brown parchment from the most
Precious of packages.