digging holes to chyna

if we were here together
you could be Mary
and I would be Joseph
and let the holy spirit fill us 
when we take all our clothes off
and talk about when bottles
were just a keeping place
and the time that we wasted
hiding from fate
sometimes I know that I love you
sometimes I know the things you play
your gun drips nocturnal from soft light with a hiss
like a match strike in white off your sandpaper hips
living an empty light socket with a human face mound
dressed to death 
in the wrong coat with no arms
to project you in your spirit form
sometimes I know that I love you
sometimes I play that shit you play
through tunnels of visors with plastic slot machine lips
the opening act of an orgy in sun struck mist
a red breath devil to sleep and fuck around
even when you know im down
a holy lidless ghost to throw your eyes around
even when the lids are down