What do you know of love or faith?

Christ.  I still recall the scent of wood clinging to him,
Relic of forgotten years in his father's shop.  We slept
Under the carving table sometimes, such innocents.  We were
Children together -- and not together.  He was something special, and I,
I was just the girl down the street, no better than she should be.
For all the kisses exchanged, he would always walk away, and I,
I knew better than to hold him.  Years later, we met again, without kisses.
Contempt clung to his friends -- they stank of their virtue,
Turning away, towing him along.  I almost left him then, but
In those amber eyes was such a haunting misery...
Oh, I stayed.  They nailed him to their cross, almost alone, but I
Never left him.  He left me; I never left him.  Remember that.

*****
M.A. Mohanraj
April 7, 1995