The bite that tore his foreskin,
Placed me seven paces away
From his company;
Took me for a fool,
Took my kiss for granted;
Placed upon pornographic imagery,
Idols of saints fornicating,
Missionary with the host of Heaven,
Like the sun buried beneath the sands,
She wore her necklace made of starlight;
And I rescinded,
But in my voice there was a dissonance;
And I can’t heal the apostolic uncertainties
Whose deaths are cast by lots.
Illusions in the dark.