<p align="right">Recognition increases will<br> chutzpah elides the fear<br> to be seen as my truth<br> is all I needed after all<br> in the mirror</p> <p align="right">In the pews, meeting Her Most High<br> the prayers begin to feel like mine<br> receiving utmost affirmations as aperitifs<br> atop the Seine; conveying passion as another daily element<br> Shaking me down to my bricks</p> <p align="right">Placid beads from a thousand sighs<br> jump into these floridly crying games<br> presaged by avoidant attachment in a cult of personalities<br> each doomed pairing sluiced into an itinerant fan club<br> pickled in edges prone to hiding under fitted sheets</p> <p align="right">For remaining rooted to your marquee moon is my license to crow<br> evermore as the chopsticks in your cello; borne of chaos and bravery<br> I love you to the end and back again, one ring at a time<br> escaping the shrill pursuit of happiness to carry moments of peace<br> as a lick to your means of tanning boots in these skinning times</p>