Lost prayers stolen from
Deep craters in my mind.
Hear them echo heavily:
The words I could not find
Are drawn from my swollen lips
With a searching, probing tongue -
The harsh bite of sin is warm
And beautiful, though mildly wrong.

Play my mouth like a violin
And reach for forgotten notes.
Poems which I tucked away,
That I once lovingly wrote.
Hands that hold my secrets
Like they're things you mustn't say;
And eyes that touch my darkness,
Even when I hide away.

Empty me of my burdens
(Even if they are few).
Find those things I lost one day
And I'll do the same for you.
But we both know that, in the end,
They will be missed once more.
Thoughts quietly confess of
Shut windows and closed doors.

When the flame burns out again
I'll sigh, and draw the blinds.
I'll change bed sheets and covers,
Not knowing what I'll find.
But I will keep these memories
In the sad palms of my hand,
Until I see them once again -
Those funny bits of sand.