Windex Saint

[Verse 1]
The Murano glass swan on the mantel at dusk
Collects the same light your fever drank up.
Last week of October, I’m on my knees here,
Smelling their money and lemon-scented Pledge, my dear.
Your bargain-bin halo, a crooked gold thread,
I patch you together inside of my head.

[Chorus]
And this is my worship, a quiet, slow prayer:
My Windex saint on the cool marble stair.
This is the gospel I finally know,
Where the work-weary angels have nowhere to go.

[Verse 2]
They’ve got a whole room just for keeping their coats,
Lined up like strangers in funeral boats.
I remember you shivering, holding my arm,
“It’s just secondhand skin,” you whispered back then, “to keep my soul warm.”
Now I straighten the silk, and I smooth out the tweed,
Planting a garden from one stolen seed.

[Bridge]
Some nights, in the quiet, when I’ve locked up the doors,
I swear I can hear you on these polished floors.
A hymn in the hum of theSub-Zero’s low sigh.

[Outro]
Yeah, you’re the one stitch that holds up my sky.
My Windex Saint… goodbye.