it is the dark side of the moon
that pulls us too soon
beneath our beds
covering our heads with fingertips scarred
and you tell me the purity is marred
when you had yet to meet her.
when you had only begun to pry
behind gold eyes.
let me explain.
but no words came.
let me try and explain to you why faith extends beyond the gossamer thread.
it is the web.
it weaves through the tears.
it follows wildly bucking hairs.
hold faith. that the end of this is the beginning of yourself.
hold it.
because i like the way your fingers dance with mine.
