shape

One...

If I were a carpenter
I would carve
A wooden box
To hold your heart in
And hide it
Behind a bookshelf
Where neither
Man nor God
Could find it

Our bodies
Are our blasphemy

Two..

Your whisper
Is armor
Against
Thier armies

I rest my destiny
Where you speak softly
A tribe of shadows
Lurking just
Beneath your
Breath

And I cannot breathe

Three...

A cigarette burns past the filter
And into her bones

She has scars no man can see
Her soul dark as
The uncharted seas
Of a distant moon
Whose waters I sail
Through the length
Of a telescope

The telephone
Is off the hook
And she is dancing
To the sound
Of the dialtone