We walked the verdant gardens, our passions as innocent as our virtues.
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And so, God has come,
As He often does
To inspect His works,
Searching for flaws
Of craftsmanship, or probity.
He reaches, deep inside,
Since that is where we truly live,
And there we lie, barely breathing,
Carmine pressing fingers to sheet,
This hollow hurting.
Echoes fall, and rise
Like herons,
All glorious angles and soft feathers,
Like love words,
Trickling out from between pressed flesh.
Before the mingling of clay,
Before the merging of breath,
We were Eden, filling the void.
We walked the verdant gardens,
Our passions as innocent as our virtues.
Once we reigned upon the Earth,
We were the storm.
Destiny’s bond, we rode our tumescence
Sealed with sweat, semen and saliva,
We rode the flood our desire had wrought.
We are the sun,
The bright hot sear of the sky,
Too powerful for boundaries
Fires stoked until they blaze away
We are what we have chosen to be.
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