I have in my palm,
The clay of your illuminated shell.
Your beauty that remains stilled,
Among the ebony shores,
Clears the skies,
In your nudity.
I am in love with only the failure,
That has become my eternal addiction.
Oh, when love is my eternity.
When love is my mercy.
I loathe the external benefit,
The mute loathing that shows
A frail breathing, lifted by toil.
I am staled by these bared hands,
That dig the soil
That surrounds your fertile form.
A beauty of flesh and soon to be
The bones beneath the extremities.
I’ve come to love the death beneath thee,
And not the truth to which makes you whole.
Fit for this merciful love and God’s own given ground.
His given ground of sanctity,
And his desires that are nothing
When compared to mine own.