Birthed forth from the groins of our reborn beloveds, we quiver firmly in protest for all life. So succulent our conviction, so pleasant our humble dwelling, a gradual attitude replaces all doubt.
Unconditional, voluntary like the bottom of the food chain. Two parts spite, two parts regret, and a divine pinch of holy water over ice makes a cold drink. When does the shade of curly hair over freckled groinery descend? Where are your favorite places to put your fingers?
Once, Our lord, up to his elbows in moisture, became hungered of a sand less beach, and slurping himself free pursued the dream with fervent pulsation. Blistered by the undoing of his loincloth and skin bare below the knees he trod from race track to casino only stopping to bless the fecal worshipers and piss drinkers. Obsession frenzied purification lathered bloodmilk of the golden calf till the sweat of his holy brow lingered as a bull ripe with fire. Trading his last laugh for a picture of the virgin he climbed the stairs and stood behind the glass. Gather my flock, anoint them with my seed, get them tested, inform them of enduring tumescence.
And so we shall,
amen
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