Her Name

The story was not quite right

He died, yes

He was silent, yes

He was unafraid, yes

But there was no honor in it whatsoever

He was silent only because he grew weary of calling out

And not receiving an answer

Loosing his faith in the idea that a man is free to feel

And do as he pleases

He was unafraid because it was what he begged for; long slumber

He gathered that it was the only way to quiet his desire

That was her name

He only honored Desire The Perfect Dagger

And for this all else was dishonored



In Vigor

The law states you must not covet lest you be gravely penalized

Though no man can correctly measure the depth of another man’s heart

Or the breadth of his kidneys

This, therefore is to be judged by him that, with but a glance

Can estimate with exactness a man

And though the law was stricken by a single ransom

Which is inestimable by us

These particles of the above are enforced with equal vigor and must remain

Should a man insist in languishing in his desire, he must answer to this one

That I may speak to this with freeness is indication that he who invented love

Is stretching his line around my heart and mind

Yes! Detecting a lack of symmetry, moved him to mold them

For he is also The Great Potter and wishes his vessels fashioned

To be utilized for the honorable

He said that my thorn will remain, but that it is no longer

Parasitic, but rather symbiotic

For the pain inflicted has brought great gain


That to me it is loathsome and foul that I should

Languish in the desire of what belongs to another

And further

That I wish to honor my companion for the gift he has found

The gift given

So that he may rejoice with me, for mine