Intersection...

“Good morning!” “Goodbye!”

He goes out; We come in.

One man's salvation is

another man's sin.

She and I make chocolate beet cake.

“He'll grimace,” we grin.

One man's salvation …

“Praise Jesus!” he jump-claps,

with child-like elation.

“If I ask what he meant, will

his levity cave in?

Like the dome on our vegetable-egg-grain creation?”

her tongue by my tongue

… is another man's sin.

His back hurts from gaming,

playing war-craft again. And
he asks us guilt-softly –

for he hates agitation,

“Could you turn down that volume? I'm tucking myself in.”

“So sorry,” as base-notes

crawl through the foundation,

so we whisper and try

to be quiet slipping in.

One man's salvation is ...

“Good morning! Is that cake, yogurt, banana, and raisins?

What a dreamy-good breakfast.

Praise God!” he begins.

His smile hallows me in

my decadent damnation.

And I feel more-than-full

… just another man's sin.

I hum; he leaves skipping.

Our wall's firm, but thin:

to each his own heaven,

sidelong.

We are kin.