A Psalm for us –

Some day when the west of the city inflicts a hailstorm towards the east coast, the rapid breeze will fill our graves in clock spaces and our ashes will rebirth colliding near our skin and setting their pace in our matter, as I will maybe say I believe in destiny, and won’t speak of coincidence. I will mend our way in lanes which would fall apart in presence of two feet, as you will love me the way a petal flourishes in every root’s breath, you will let me know that you can now love me as the dead, mourn me as the living, and touch me as a lover. I’d read to you as love stories of two in history and religion will altogether be our facsimiles, I will not have to paint the dry walls hollow as an illusion for escape, I’d taint them in gore, and write in wicked ancestry as prayers for our souls– as this will be a psalm for you, in secrecy to mollify me.