and from the depths of a linty pocket you offer a hand to me that in the years short years to come i would kiss until i knew its every callus and curve. until the romans broke it, as they break everything, and left it a mangled pulp for us to scrape from their torture post. until the angels made it incorruptible and beneficent sign for all to see. until both left it perfect and golden and alien and unrecognizable to me
