Love rolls off of you like water,
gathering in puddles at your feet.
I have learned to ease myself into
its stark-shocking coolness with
Until you are enveloped in me.
What is it you call faith?
Is it like never knowing light,
or is it like rolling over
in the hours after darkness
with shuttered eyes?
You too, have held a loveless hand.
Desperately content, we've all
stayed to see Autumn, bleeding
red leaves, hold one more
Victory is not sweet.
If lying on your tongue,
it would taste more like this:
Bitter, metallic, cold, maybe hot.
But burning either way.
By: Casey Evans
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Copyright © 1996 Robert Thomas Crouch
Copyright © 1997 Timothy M. Radonich