Lofty words, spoken;  as if, as if;
and no doubt, I'll burn for it all.. I'm sure.
A conniving-mind--
filled with agenda.. oh, I'm sure
And  if there is a stone  that
needs to be thrown first,  then here--
take it, my love.. and cast away,
my little castaway.

Now villified,  I can   finally
be sent back to hell--
back to where I've always belonged,
because.. no doubt, everything I've ever done
has only been self-serving.

Everything--
    I'm sure of it.

It was somewhere  between
her third and forth ******
when the wall, came down;
a wall  she didn't even know existed--

                   A wall, that is,
    until love came to town.

And so it is,  within the pleasurable;
   when mixed with pain,  
   in certain moments;   
becomes,  quite obtainably
the death, of death..

within the loving-kindness
         of things known, anally--

        (the tenderness of a back-door man
        is a righteousness, all it's own),
        as  it is the intentions of the heart
        that brings one  closest,
        to that   of kingdom, come.

And yet.. an angelic, front-pew voice
   singing praise
   when heart-- unchecked,

can become a clanging sound, unholy;
drowned out, by the passion-screams
of the one,  once-bound--

        but now,  breaking free.
        (a truly righteous sound in Heaven,  indeed..)

        --and Love,  Love,  Love;
        is rarely what we think it otta be.
        (or maybe, there is a heretical-hell
        waiting- for those  just like me.)

But if what passes itself off as life,
is actually Life, indeed    
                 then I choose hell, (yes. again, indeed).
And if heaven, for most.. is nothing, but a crutch
I'll choose death, over death, every ****** time..

                                           thank-you-very-much.

To lay hold of this faith,  
    this belief
this full-on embrace  
of the wholly absurd
This follow.. this path--
solely based  on-whisper, heard?

You can come back out, now
back, out.. into the light of day, now:
my love is either heaven-sent,
or completely   p l u n g e d  
into the insanest meaning  
                             of the word

and I really don't even care anymore
if it is the first
                 the second..

    or  the unspeakable, third

Don't speak directly to her--
you will melt the skin  off
     her bone-frame

Instead,  find parallel-words--

ones that will  float alongside her
as she walks,  so as she is able-
she can pluck them--  like
wild roses  alongside the highway

Sometimes, love takes a
   tremendous
amount of creativity--

the name of the game is
    its destination..
not  the control of its path