In Lieu of the Expressionist

Balm of Gilead

This is where the moonlight lands,

On the patches of his revealed skin.

I have kissed those places,

Tracing those particular pathways

Night after night.

God is all but forgotten in these moments,

Working His mysterious methodology

Through this vessel that I am.

I see Heaven reflected in the face of my love,

Basking in the glory from up above.

His fingertips are familiar, every swirl and ridge

Of his pressed into my memory.

His palms are the Balm of Gilead,

The twin dance of warmth and cool

Emanating from within.

Perhaps this love will be everlasting,

Snaking in-between the chambers of my heart

To reside in my bloodstream.

I whisper his name on the smooth of his lips,

Drawing forth his devotion.

Worship is alive in these bedsheets,

Vigilance kept through the evening.

Beauty is in this midnight mass,

A congregation of adulation once denied

And peace yet to come.

Oh!--How I've waited for His sweet embrace,

For the day He'd take me up to His Kingdom

And let it be known his love for me.

In the past, I'd come to the feet of many idols,

All soon revealed incomparable to His light.

I shall suffer no more and cease my entreaties.

My God reveals Himself unto me

And I bring him awe-filled oblations.

In this room without war,

Rest will be known henceforth.