He

Silent Flush

sitting cross-legged in His silence
He is the prologue to pain
the foreword to falling

He may be shredding up
paper planes in the midday

but i need Him
to lull me to sleep,
to a dreamland
where He loves me
a little

i close my eyes and imagine:

rock the bed to and fro
with the gentle metronomic sway
of His hips
like a silent ocean
french kissing the sand

but then
He must speak-

flush your head down the toilet

so
for His valuable silence to return
i do

i do

- ©️ Mars Saturnia