Saturday, March 7, 2015


You, the Philosopher.
Me, the subject
        to be hemmed
        and regarded
        and prescribed.
You wanted dialogue,
but only left breadth for my

You, the Artist.
Me, the model
        to be still,
        to be captured.
No turning my head,
no looking away,
no parting my lips:

You, the Agnostic.
Me, the rosary
        to be Beauty,
        to be Saintliness,
        to keep you near the Faith.
You wanted to pray upon me
while I lay within your hands in

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