Logic is a crystal warrior
Brave face sculpted bright as a glacier.
She sees all-
and all is clear as her streams’ cut and rage-
so robust- down to the working man-part below.
That is her soothing gift.
Her unfaltering flow
extinguishes the choking furnace
of animal temper.
She is lithe
and marches through the slicing
cliffs and straits of life.
She alone could be the master
but I,
Passion,
torture the rowdy ox of Body
leave her steaming, fitful,
pressed and parched
beneath me,
the scornful southern sun
so she can buck and reel her heavy head,
and shake and bruise her withered brains
so i can splay myself upon Logic,
and melt her to pools
weak and tearful.
