I prefer to write in catacomb silence
under an inky night sky
hearing only batwing whispers,
puppy dog tales of yesteryear.
I long to see your ethereal nudity,
transparent lace across your face
it is you of course I long for
oh sweet lady of sin and coveting.
We spoke of god so many times
I fell weakened to my knees
only to realize that god is me
praying to the coverlets of existence.