Only Father knows! the chaos in sincerity. What I call
holy, you call a technique: How do you understand the Faiths? What I adore, you
have mastered, with me still learning. Is it lonely?
So righteous—unclothed, cloth in mud, cypress trees as
witness; to have died loving her, to need another, to come to anger in you; so
experimental, a lecturer, so small, and it always hurts. I don’t want that.
The kiss took place. You shaved your head. You took
vows. I didn’t admit it. Knowing you
makes life precious. A man doesn’t wish to die, ever in the breeze.
It doesn’t mean as much as it does with the soul she
latched to; pull her nearer, like you feel adamant, watching her shave her
intimacy.
So cursed at it. Rebuked and reborn.
Only Father knows the way I want us to become!
Okay!
I’ll become sad and somber.
Looking at you, dying to touch you, so afraid to make
love in you.
