An Education in Malice

by S.T. Gibson

Nature, with all her airs and graces, attends on her favorites, painting cheeks with a rosy bloom, filling lungs with the sweet breath of life. Youth, in all her splendor, gleams on the skin of girls who process, heedless of death,

towards beauty’s consummation.

Love turns some people into birds or beggars, but you make me into architecture, into a sanctuary of soft and holy spaces shaped to catch the sound of your voice. These eyes: rose windows bathing you in light. These arms: alcoves open in shadowed embrace. This heart: a confessional dark enough for your sins. This mouth: a bell driving away demons

and calling you home.