Graft and kneel yourself, With attachment for your submission, As I hold down what little is left For you to overcome Of your side, Of all sides That want a feeling to radiate. Yours will burn, Yours will churn, Yours will twist about In the heat, in the race Of two sins colliding For the ultimate taste. Love leaks upon our palms, Love sings old hymns, Speaks old psalms. Old wisdoms that our new minds Could not ever fathom. Your form is a dancing liquid Of light in its debris. I want to kiss, to hold, Though all that escapes my mouth Is the words to scold. Fires run, Pyres win. To the fingers that rot On their ends, We scream for the geyser To rise up To claim what has been too much For the burden of a closed circus, For the sin of tragic wildness. Turnings, Churnings, run with the somber, gray tides. I love your eyes, Hailing Neptune's panic Upon the hurricane That roars its place upon the water.