Godship imbibes itself on Alejandro’s frustrations in esurient fashion, humor in temporary devotion that slither from his mouth akin to serpents hissing out false contrition.

His faith interlaces within your health.

He sits besides you in a room designed to mock with sterilized white walls, as if comparing its lack of asepsis to your own in taunt. His thumb strokes over knuckles, his lips gingerly kiss the corner of your mouth.

“How’s my cardinal today?” Voice of loyalty asks.