Poetry · Writing

Holy Ghost

Not the Saint

I was once, straight

hanging out in your paradise.

Scared of being lost in love

I crave it on the daily

your ecstasy hangs from tips of our lips

hiding in the light of lonely nights.

The spirit keeps me close to you

but baby baby baby

time is ever-changing

the minutes n the hours pass

you remind me of the angel on the painted glass.

Not the Saint

I was once, less

maybe more

closer to the singing task.

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