In a World Gone Sacred

Like a whine, no, maybe a sigh. We sit and tap, type, wings and leather, beast and birds. Windowpanes like cages in the mind.

Sitting a sick pull between the two. Muscle and breast. Soft and strong. A natural disaster. They'll allow beauty in the burning eye and set the both aside for a time.

One cries reform, the other a false prophet of romantic revolution. We cast the unborn with the trivial and set our sights on what we deem... higher endeavors.

Leave sex for the dogs. So to say...