i

i

You broke nothing but what we broke, welcoming twisted death.

Consumed by sour soul-sucking us-ness; i-want, i-needy holes inside, reflected in empty wombs, empty beds.

Momentary, merciful rightness, righteousness, Himness, so brief (don't go!), Love.  Just now, I see!

Here, again, the tiniest of words looms so large it blocks the Son.



Photo Credit   Umanoide