Confessional #6

My war is far from over.
In the trenches,
taking toxic fire.

Over the head of us,
the war planes swoop, and glide.

My chemical war.

Intoxicated by your breath,
kisses fused with laughter;
the dripping sweetness of your speech,
every moment
an intangible wasteland
devoid of vegetation,
as I settle in and make my hole a home.

Words like water,
from the sky.

And life begins,
in a drop of Your
remission.

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