Saturday, May 1, 2010

Holy Pilgrimage

That part of me
which no longer remembers
the touch of another,
that part is lifting off my skin
and rising towards your hands,
finding holy pilgrimage
in the distance between us.
I would pray to you
if I could remember how
but all my words are lost in want,
obscured by anticipation
and have settled,
stones in the depths
of my need for you.

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