She runs her fingers

Through blistered hair

Naked in the foam of

An original point of view

Wisdom from living

An unfiltered life of

Sleeping in the sand

Track marks penetrate

The holy land as daylight

Enfolds itself

Midnight over her shoulders

Sitting at your feet like

A moon beam, a shadow

Of a garden

She is clean from everything

She has seen or felt pushed

Against home walls

She doesn’t have to look

anywhere, it’s all right in

Front of her in blood and guts

Tendered elbows holding

God’s tools for the sacrifice

She moans like a child at

The sight of happiness

The soul and the

Body remember a

Tortured love refuses

To satisfy the

Morrison like angel

Pauses of heaven in

Her voice

When she moans

I moan, too