after the belief of honey

early on
before
the toxins of people
penetrate
the skin's pores,
you imagine two hands
completing a whole,

you were young,
just a byproduct
of beliefs
that had no holes.

you made prayers
in beads of the trinity
to the flesh,
to the story,
to the belief,

a sum of hope
that lead
to the expedition
of proof.

years later
in the inevitable landscape
of wars,
the cosmology of the word
forever
is captured
and handed
one more smoke.

the only security she left you
is handcuffs.

you understand this
in only a theory
that the guillotine
can provide.