Let the seventh sorrow reach into

isolated dint; glower, I’m home.

zealots pleasure striking their coup.

Salivating over lustful tomes

all while the hypocrite’s contrition

levels all but a single man’s glare,

interacting with love’s first partition.

Mmm…or maybe; I don’t really care.



I don’t know, nor do I feel the sun.

Lo and behold I spy your visage

onward into my lovely dreams.

Violently these feelings aren’t yet done.

Energy released until I scream

Yet the soul contracts massage.

***** your female mantis drains

Until we look and find the rain.