Whisk, lily limbs, into graciousness, stately -
and hate me for being so fallible, fallible,
fallible - like such a damnable human.
Dare not lay your hands upon me.

So well disjointed, appointed a label,
told fables and psalms like a whimsical, whimsical,
whimsical lie, exorbitant narratives
fraught with the stench of decay.

And so, disappointed, anointed with thorns,
as their horns, and their false tongues so difficult, difficult,
difficult, that we can't help but wonder
just why we live this way,

as your lily limbs spin into spacious transgression.
Confessions of laudable symmetry, symmetry,
symmetry, broken: you choked on your words
as they caught on your breath, and you had nothing left to say.