Seated Woman With a Parasol

Sitting on the love seat, Today I feel a moth Bodily peeled from its chrysalis To meet the world’s dim eyes And worrisome gales. God left precisely X years ago. I had no use for one afterwards, Until I met your breath along The sinful clamor inside my veins. And I am caught between duty- Should I build you into a shrine Of eternal unfaith- And the wildling taste at the roof Of my mouth- do I crush your Grandness of the wrist, Under the ball of my foot, The one you kiss before you Reach the troubled line of my leg. My butterfly confliction Succumbs to your godless ways.