There’s a larger prayer,
and it knows itself,
knows the nuances of love and longing,
are like a perfect, circle; square.
And I try to draw,
but all the shapes I give,
are of the wrong forms,
for art to be in.
So I take my time,
mutter my words to myself,
one at a time.
I take my time,
waiting for the rest,
that comes with the sublime.
Now, love is brave,
it doesn’t ask for expression,
nor for you to cave.
Love is a light,
that burns so bright,
you turn your eyes away,
at the very sight.
But I don’t know love,
and I don’t know desire,
all I know is how I feel,
and how love perspires;
down a burning cheek,
bounded by gravity,
but never meek.