Salut
The 9 a.m. sun pierces through the glass, gifting hues to the devout,
While the newborn, glistening and raised, is molded in a cradle of doubt.
Sinking in this holy house, the black velvet swallows my frame;
A shroud for the secret feelings that I dared not give a name.
The choir swells with every phantom song, a crescendo of "belong,",
And now, at last, I realize why loving you is wrong.
It wasn't your abrupt departure, or the ghost of your gaze on my skin,
But the hollow left inside me where the sanctuary should have been.
I lift the chalice to the lips you once claimed as your own,
Begging for a second life, for a seed that might be sown.
To trade this heavy penance for a life that’s meant to be,
But the truth has dragged me from the pews and set the spirit free.
My heart can never be made anew, for the grace I sought was lost,
When starting over means a life après vous, at such a holy cost.
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