A Religious Abyss: A Poem

Love’s pain a virtue

That you don’t want to miss

Her eyes a culture

A religious abyss


There’s a light in this town

Where she only glows

The keys are locked out

And her secrets not known


I’m always wandering

So near and so far

She’s deaf to pondering

How close is my heart?


I walk in shadows

Where the light is my grave

She says she can’t go

Where the night is my day


My eerie romance

Leaves nothing to bare

Bones all exposed

Silhouettes running scared


This town is haunted

With fragments of her

My mind is wandering

My heart is allured


My mouth it waters

At the sight of her dress

Her sex skin hollers

Marry the “con” to the “fess”


Her eyes are pearls

That fell from the sky

Comets unfurl

Where wool meets the dye


Touch, taste and lipstick

She wears on her cheek

I am a misfit

Could I sneak your peek?


I’ll talk my way in

Right through closed doors

Your makeup wears sin

Like Juliet and Romeo


My words make her novels

Where she is the saint

I am the sinner

From birth to the grave


Let’s shelter our passions!

Let’s make them our home!

Drown math by fractions

Where partial is whole


Hang on, dear innocence!

We’ve got nothing to lose

My eyes are no hypocrites

No way in hell she’s a ruse


Slow down the night

Before we get started

Her backed-up smiles

Souls of the departed


I hope to taste her

To spill a wet kiss

Those eyes a culture

A religious abyss…


Written by: Moses Y. Mikheyev

Dedicated to: a muse, a yet-to-be-determined—a non-existent entity, inspiring the pseudo-romantic poems of a flailing poet on the verge of The Verge Itself, writing with the last drops of dropping blood, which flows from the veins of a Spanish Armada, that had sunken—deep, deep, deep—within the bowls of a boisterous ocean…For what else does one write? On behalf of whom does one breathe? One cannot breathe underwater anyhow. Perhaps one only writes when one has already died a deep, deep, deep death. 

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