You were draped across a girlfriend's bedroom wall where a cross would be, your arms held out loosely like an ambiguous invitation, shielding your countenance from extraneous intrusions under which she would sleep soundly in the shroud of your incantation.
Your fallen angel wings beating back bad dreams slain mercilessly and falling at your feet.
Your lips slightly pouting, eyes dark, obfuscating the madness and ***-crazed hallucinations they harbor.
Hair purposefully unkempt, disheveled sensuously atop your head, tufts of hair brushed across your broad chest--
Bare muscles taut and taunting, placed topographically on the poised temple-- those ready to worship bow their heads in reverence to the sonic alchemist.
The modern adonis, sculpted out of the Mississippi Delta Blues and Dionysian wet dreams-- brought to life with the electric current pulsating through the microphone and its stand upon which you straddle with skin-tight leather pants--
Your left hand around its waist, your right cupped over the phallus-- your lips part and your cataclysmal eyes envelop the darkness before you--
Your image, tormented and tantalizing in an open invitation to prostrate ourselves before you and succumb to your hypnotic stare.