Little Boy of Innocence
Now become a man
Face shrouded in timelss curls of black
Still soft in their fall across thou brow.
Creased not in years but thought
Head bowed toward the crisp white linen of Sunday best
Forever you will kneel before Our Lord
Now your pearlish hands tenderly intertwined
Pressed and clenched to aid in forceful
Concentration for those same lashes
Sealed in honest prayer
Long to flutter in expressed desire
And even now amongst the oily pine of
Christianed pews you inhale only the
Scent of Chanel #5; wanting to caress her.