Rough Canticle of Affirmations

•18/ —then perhaps a sanctuary can lie within the array of bones that makeup the human ribcage, series of columns adding up to a support system for a submerged cathedral, leaning drunkenly under the heavy weight of an ocean’s gravity, embracing the layers of holy artifacts which travel through a lifetime of failures and epiphanies or couplings with strangers in alleyways, their rough fingers stroking across the torso, the altar of human progression, their palms hesitantly raising electricity of a moment, hands roaming under rich fabric, elaborate designs, both of you seeking resolution through a collection of new psalms, new homilies, and a rough canticle of affirmations, soft private moans, murmurs surging in a partner’s ear, confirming every motion, every gesture across the flesh—
•