To Christ’s beloved Bride

My eyes have opened wide

At the sight of her Faith I cower

All along it has been in Her own power

To Christ’s perfect and beloved Bride

I seek now to give you my eyes

How else might you find your insides?

Foregrounding the smell of formaldehyde

To what does your Faith give sight?

the Image I want burned into mind

is of a child who decides never to die

Mistaking a millimeter for a mile

Preaching to us of our obligation to the sky

Your Hope is not mute, far from taciturn

The crooked rule until the (dead) king returns

But Your Love I may have missed

Unless, wait, does she merely love avarice?

More honestly, I’d say it’s a surprising mix.

Your love really is something I miss, 

something like a smoker’s cigarette kiss,

Accused by the eyes of the Other

How do you continue in this?

Are you not afraid, do you not shudder?

You’ll never again find me within your gates

I’ve repented of my dishonest faith

Now for your destruction, I sit and wait.