Theologian  

You circle the periphery of clouds,
A vagabond of the firmament.  
Perusing the sun’s corona,  
A specter always pining  
For meaning  
But never needing  
The touch of a woman  
Or the feral scents of intimate urgencies.  
I want you...I want  
To be the pungent indecency  
That binds your feet to the earth
Inhale the seedy pleasures in dirt  
The artistry of sin
Lubricious offerings  
And corporal sufferings  
When desire consumes you whole.  
Give you this...  
Before you go drifting back  
To your heavenly elopements.