I tremble at first sight
of everything I am afraid
to take for granted.
Mostly you.
I fear your existence as the
genesis of my captivation.
That you are birthplace of all reason,
the only toothache of a miracle
I have ever tasted– you,
sweet sugar sting, smooth
fingerprints and vulnerability,
eyes glazed the same hazel
of playground earth that I,
being barefoot and still my own,
once called salvation.

And God said,
“Let there be love.”

What a hideous world
it would be, void of your soul–
concrete hearts beating meaningless,
symphonies bellowing with no ears
listening intently for light within them,
streets murmuring with imposters
aching to replicate beauty
the way you breathe it,
exhale it, every map leading
to hollow phantoms of holiness.

I have never prayed for such a world.

And in the beginning,
God saw that the light was good,
and God separated the light from the darkness.
You, crisp first page of morning,
are Genesis slipping through my fingers.
And I, angel fallen, will love you
beneath the shadows
of a loveless world.

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