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.