In this addled land where men and boys whose gentle adoration brings to long too long for beauty’s passion are rewarded with condemnation of perverts and pacifists in ransom, is it any wonder we revert to idling on the warped and ugly definition to save our grace? And since in guilt none listen, nothing is forgiven; what a lovely little mansion is built in big love’s place when all face prison. So much for the embrace when the admission kills the mission. Who then becomes the poison’s victim, the assassin?
The imagined lover is more real for lovin’, as embodiment’s lust ends in nothin’ lastin’.