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Something dark and foreign on the face you know too well. Something rather not unlike a saunter into hell.
To offer me forgiveness, to throw me one last lifeline: The serpent sprung from Eden, the fallen from the sublime.
In six thousand years on Earth, not one confession to my name - never longed for absolution, never feared eternal flame.
Except that one occasion, at the crumbled church that night, but burnt soles for a decade were a small price for your life.
I know no earthly penance could repair the wrong I’ve done, but something tore within me when I thought that you had gone.
And in that jagged space a new sensation took a hold, without you I remembered that the deepest hell is cold.
My saving grace, my eastern gate, that low and thrumming heat - I rip my sins into the air and toss them at your feet.
I can’t receive Her mercy, I implore you yours instead, You hold me close and whisper low, amen, amen, amen.