The Gates Poem by Edmond Sheehy

The gates of paradise are fire escapes,
they connect these alleyways to the stars.
In the dark no one can make out our shapes
as you kiss my temples then trace my scars.
I must confess when I caress your breast
in the yard behind your folks' apartment
that I feel happier than all the blessed;
your lips mean more than any sacrament.
We have no other home but this stone wall,
serenaded by choirs of the neighbors
railing at TV as they watch baseball.
Exposed to heaven, in our place outdoors,
your face tonight outshines eternity,
focusing this city's ceaseless beauty.