Words created perfection into existences,
devoiding darkness of its blackness .
So we became that perfection.
The live cells on the shroud of Turin,
after decades of ascension,
a rare beauty that sounds like a conspiracy theory.
So when they ask,
tell them we are the purple ember flames,
Burning on the heaven’s firmament.
For these knees have fallen 7 times,
And on the seventh you completed me.
Tell them that we are the chorus,
Chanted by seraphim at the feet of His throne.
Our love language is tongues of adoration and melodies intimacy.
We are prayers uttered at dawn,
whose responses rain down like fire on prayer altars.
Our love is rooted in Genesis,
The garden of Eden
Just like the chains binding Leviathan in the River Euphrates.
We are a canvas painted in blue,
shades of hue,
Rubbing gently on sea shore,
Breathing life into existence.
Tell them we are Songs of Solomon sung from soothing lips,
A union that echoes centuries and through sanctuaries,
for these hearts are holy temples.
These bodies became bound,
The day we mended each other’s bleeding hearts.
So, tell them,
God is an artist uniting soul mates,
Him a bone perfectly jig sawed into my spine.
From his skin I have inhaled the smell of sacrifice,
his shoulder blades becoming foundations of trust.
So if you are to speak of us, tell them we are ethereal.
Written by: Trybee
