sermon.

the four'o'clock sunlight that falls across the living room
throws your shadow, making you look like
the giant that you are on the inside.

your shoelaces are untied
but the limp-wristed way in which you
animate your words tells me that you're unphased.

you unconsciously pace the floor
back and forth back and forth
as the music in the next room builds.

you stop with your arms in the air, head hanging low,
as the climax strikes and begins to descend,
and you're finally ready to sit down.

eyes rimmed with tears, and cheeks as rosy
as your ruby-red sweater.
you collapse into yourself
and fade into the couch.