Cotán

I'm praying
by the moonlight,
the icy moonlight
that's burning through the window of my
cell, and I hear god speak
in whispered codings
the slow unfoldings
that spiral from his heaven
to my hell.

In my lust
I paint his luscious bulbous bounty
before I bite it.
Before I bite.

Then in repentance
I paint his children
they light the darkness
but even their electric skin
can't soothe my soul.

So I'll keep praying
by the moonlight,
the icy moonlight
that's burning through the window of my
cell.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.