the title is meant to be ironic
enough to draw the attention
of the easily offended and
dramatic internet users
who happen to cross this
poem.

it's ironic because 'Gay' & 'Bible'
usually come in contention;
words unfit to modify the other
a neon g-string preist is odd
but it ain't necessarily
so.

I explained this.

A sign of the times,
It's my crisis
I'll exist if I want to.

There is a new fire
in my soul
           its curves  
                wrap themselves
               around me
                      sinuous
             like a hot
          slithery
sheath of flesh
snakes of pleasure
       twirling in my deepest
                         womanflow      
           pumping inside
    my veins of mesh
Those licks of flames
caress as they spew
  they **** in my spirit
        spit it out anew
                undulating hips
        matching my own
            a middle east song
                igniting my bones
        suffusing my blood
with the raw, the bare
filling me up
with sparkling lava,
                   so rare          
This combination
          makes for a recipe hot
               like a piquant ghost pepper
                  in my spiciest spot
Now let me weave words
Let me conjure your
                           liquids
let me drench colors
upon your eyelids,
my spirit's
proximity vivid
Let me drown you in
            madness
in frothiest frequencies
           of love
let this symphony play out
powers screeching above
and as this vivacity beckons
          the soul in your eyes
our stormiest spirals
       will spill out rainbow fire
           and rise
for as we grow and reach out
there is a death of limitation
              as freedom breaks out
                   in ocean-soaked
                 emancipation
Our mutual worlds
heal each other's hurts
as my tongue licks
your wounds
rejuvenation asserts
hot springs of
              lifeflow
filling up cells
sensations of textures
a ringing of bells
So
as I weave this spell
around you
            fear not that you
will disappear or
thine own self lose
for we have only to soar
as we
   coax out
        the muse