passing the time (for those who know, with understanding)

upstairs at night
i pray
for your cold tongue
on my skin

and even so, i'm in that black slip, alone.
you and your rubik's cube.  why don't you come upstairs?
and i think of those who keep lovers and then
tell myself:  some things are not relative.

(nervously then:
not the abortion
not the looting
and what about taking the lord's name in vain?)

so i just pray on
for your cold tongue
for you to solve the puzzle
and for forgiveness.