Take praying hands into my stomach Take my gut onto them
Allow me this pull—you inside of me The weekend-words of my own heart;
A lull of bloody excuses met With bloody tooth in the dark.
If a soul can touch with praying hands, We clasp praying eyes as wet—
Deep as broken-hearted gasps, Past all that we have known for so long
As lowly coalminer’s pets, Dreaming exits of light and new breath.