"...flock of birds, hovering above..."
oh bittersweet the taste of skin
that memory stored recalls within
the kind that drives a weak man wild
but draws a tease to one beguiled
oh sainted man call forth to prayer
and let thy soul find wisdom there
for lest thy slip to common woe
laws made for men, thy common foe
but sainted sinner knows this place
for he's been blessed to rest his face
betwixt the stems when rivers spray
and places where his Lord doth say
so find ye comfit in the truth
that freed this once religious youth
tis love that makes all passion true
for God and skin in me and you
~Apollo
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