Theologian

You circle the periphery of clouds,

A vagabond of the firmament.  

Perusing the sun’s corona,

A specter always pining

For meaning

But never needing

The touch of a woman

Or the feral scents of intimate urgencies.

I want you...I want

To be the pungent indecency

That binds your feet to the earth

Inhale the seedy pleasures in dirt

The artistry of sin

Lubricious offerings

And corporal sufferings

When desire consumes you whole. 

All this

Before you go drifting back

To your heavenly elopements.