If I crack the brown glass caught in your pupils
Do not try to find my soul in such filthy landfills of black and burning coffins.
Bring coins to sit on my lips
Bring a hand in my mouth
Touch a cold body with only dollars laying on a mind
Bring a gun further to sight.
Turn a slight of hand as my clock struck midnight.
Slight of hand is all I know.
I found God, not in a man, but in a dusty Sunday church room.
I found a God to worship in a dark mind.
All I know
Slight of hand is all I know
And God, not man, will finish our show.
-Without the letter 'e'
(c.d.)
YOU ARE READING
Craving Love
Poesía→ it's been occurring to me, that you can't burn the devil. ← ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ *Please don't take any of my work. All poems belong to me, unless stated otherwise. :)*
