Ode to the Patron Saint of Doylestown
I dream often
of you wearing
a crown of thorns
carrying your cross
of my indiscretions
Time has made you
more beautiful
flawless
my guilt erasing all
your faults
your temper
your depression
all that is left
is the red
sores I left on you
Your angelic
soft and snow
bleeding slowly
through your wounds
greater as a martyr
then a lover
I’ll remember you
more this way
hurting and wounded
dying slowly
even though
your probably
smiling now
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