I am not your parent, or any of
your windows which
expose your figurines – I refuse
to sacrifice salvation.
I will not ask which I cannot give –
this residue looks heavenwards, we
shed our bitter and subjective courage.
You, and his full being, thrown in.
Inside and tangled, half-truth,
a passion play. You’ll stay on my back
Just a shade too beautiful,
covering the sun, once a cycle.
I am not your parent, untouched by poison.
For me, it rises, regardless.