The Christmas tree
Four feet to my left,
And it's dark,
But I like it that way.
Sometimes...
It hurts my eyes.

I'm reading things
That make me think of you,
That make me sad,
Because it makes it seem
Like fate might intervene after all.

I sat in the church
With you whispering behind my back,
With me wishing it was about
Something as unclean as myself,
And it was only at that moment
When you leaned over to touch my hand
And I pretended the veil broke
That I knew God was truly home.