the priest

the priest sat in the airport bar, he was wearing his father's tie, and his eyes looked into my eyes so far, whenever the words ran dry, behind the lash and the circles blue, he looked as only a priest can, thru, and his eyes said me and his eyes said you, and my eyes said, let us try, he said, "you wouldn't like it here, no it's no place you should share, the roof is ripped with hurricanes, and the room is always bare, i need the wind and i seek the cold", he reached post the wine for my hand to hold, and he saw me young and he saw me old, and he saw me sitting there, then he took his contradictions out, and he splashed them on my brow, so which words was i then to doubt, when choosing what to vow, should i choose them all-should i make them mine, the sermons, the hymns and the valentines, and he asked for truth and he asked for time, and he asked for only now, now the trials are trumpet scored, oh will we pass the test, or just as one loves more and more, will one love less and less, oh come let's run from this ring we're in, where the christians clap and the germans grin, saying let them lose, crying let them win, oh make them both confess