Look for the smile.
You’ve searched fruitlessly in the abundance of pillows and sheets
that have been warmed in a wooden apartment
surrounded by glass and steel.
You’ve fallen over yourself in heels that have reached the Empire State
and then crawled back in vain with bruises and blisters.
The pages of the old texts say that you were destined to be with a spirit
that will lead you to holiness and eternity,
but there are no arrows pointing you to him,
no bows to spring you forward.
Hiding only seems inviting when you’ve been burned in the sun 5 times in two years,
but you miss the sun in the winter.
You always go back to the sun, because Sunday is your favourite day.
The music only narrates your emotions through beats and melodies,
but sitting still and listening is the most pleasurable route to decay.
Kisses after dinner, kisses in the bed, kisses behind church doors.
Kisses, kisses, kisses,
and no smiles.
The serpent never smiled in the garden,
and neither did the sheep on the sacrificial stone.
Bitter we’ve grown in the economy of saving genuine happiness in banks
that charge interest if you expend too much joy.
But I was never afraid of debt, and neither was the one who smiled.