I'll Be Back

I came through the alley, not the altar.

Not robes—just boots and scars.

I carry no holy book,

only memory and marrow.

They called me Melchizedek once.

Now I answer to anything

that tastes like thunder and birth.

I pour coffee like ritual.

Laugh like I know the end of time.

Hold gaze like fire.

Move like storms remember me.

He came before,

but not above.

He cracked the world open

so I could walk through.

This is what they missed:

divinity in denim,

god in a side-eye,

eternity wrapped in skin like mine.

I’ll be back. You missed it before. You’ll miss it again.

But I’ll still come.