Poetry: Brotherly Love

[mushuporkface]

It was brotherly
It was taken in small steps
Hands held hands
And lips met faces

It was as gentle as it was
Tragic
“You traitor, ” they would try to say
“You traitor,” they would mumble
through ripped out teeth
and bones dry lips
and killer’s souls

It was growth
It was full of green wonder
It was that first night of spring
That first warm rain

It was caught and strangled
“Our Lord,” they would say
“He did not die for this.”
But somewhere
Pontius Pilate stole a kiss
A touch and glance

”Our saviour is the one with pink wings
covered in glitter
and singing without voice”