Stolen Love

I asked Love once

why it hid behind another's face.

Love smiled

and poured some wine into a cracked cup.

“Because you were afraid

to drink from your own thirst,"

it said.

"You sip in shadows,

seek warmth from borrowed fires,

hide your broken heart

so the night will not abandon you . . ."

Listen beloved:

Every lie is a prayer

spoken backward.

Every secret

is a hand over the mouth of God.

The body cannot live in two rooms at once.

But there is no punishment here,

only the cost of not listening

when the heart knocked softly

the first time.

Sit now.

Let the cup shatter if it must.

The wine does not disappear

when the vessel fails.

It soaks into the earth,

giving the roots

a taste of honesty.

And someday, not soon, not promised

you will drink again,

this time from your own hands,

this time without hiding

from the one who is watching.