No apology sweeter than press of warm lips,
Candid, silent words for the moon to witness.
Slightest of touch, nudging ebbs to floods,
Within two chambers of my tainted heart.
Stained and corrupted by fleshly love,
Our limbs must grasp and intertwine,
Inscribing upon us immortal epitaphs;
A joy, too short, too loud to last.
And borrowed time has debts to call,
When term and place has no control
tempered and waned instead by sanity
A slave to order, truth and conceit.
But if faced to be acronycally sinned
And gullets with fake conscience fill,
Tumbling down two quaking worlds meet,
Bringing with them two identities.
And shells quietly a voice will breach,
While mind still interprets and perceives;
A single constant shining through us both,-
That chance, not fate has us betrothed.
