Ink Knuckles

You thought the ink
in my knuckles was mascara,
I thought it was
the bruise of giving in.
God is on a quickly-made stage
we keep our heads to the floor
not daring to look in his face
or chance that he has no face.
But the only hope I had
was we keeping our heads together
smelling your breath
fitting my lips to your eyelids
close. kiss. close. kiss.
Yes, maybe there is God
in front on stage
and with a face to look into.
And maybe the ink
on my knuckles is his shadow,
as close as your breath. my lips.

Mar 3, 2010