Abraham: A Poem

You are the secret constellations

and their secret sons.

I loved you like thunder.

I loved you like storms.

Under baptisms and red wine

is my constitution.

But they turn the other cheek

because I am not your Princess.

You were toothless

when you came to me.

Abraham knocked on the door

of my seedy room at the Red Roof Inn.

Said that Daddy asked him to come.

He took a bath in front of me

then crawled into my Marlboro Bed.

And there was no sex tape for us.

And the priests never stand up for us.

Sermons are terrified of us

but there is no us.

You are the Northern Lights

and their beautiful daughters.

I loved you longer.

I loved you stronger.

The sands of time kicked up and

got in my eyes and suddenly, I was

in the trash with Crystal Pepsi and

pineapple Gummi Bears.

You got to move out of the

Red Roof Inn

and I had to stay.

I wanted to hate you

and I suppose that’s all

love is

so I tucked a Forget-Me-Not into the pocket

of your bluest shirt.

You were soft

when we took our first embrace.

Abraham packed up his bag

and moved in with the Princess.

He told her she was lovely

and threw away my flower

at the coronation.

I was flat on my back

alone that night.

A dull steak knife and a

hazy red light.

No one there to hold my hand.

No one there to catch my sweet.

No one there for peasants.

Abraham became a prince

and drank dry martinis with the Princess.

I tried to cry for him

but the doctor said my eyes were broken.

We didn’t fall in Big Deep Love.

We couldn’t even if we tried.

There was no sex tape for us.

And the priests like to forget about us.

I think they were afraid of us.

But there is no us.

You are the secret constellations

and I lie beneath them.

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