The Practice of Degradation
He’ll decide he’s done.
And maybe I’ll believe I was different.
Happened before the eyes of a merciful moon,
Who sometimes cast his skin in a somber glow
(the soul keeper of the secret)
And how do I describe
The unearthly bliss....
Smothered by the darkness
Of the witching hour, the dead of night,
All performed in the back of a padded Jeep.
I loved his body
Beyond my own.
I’ve been his secret
And who am I
To pull the alarm now?
I’ve heard it wailing for years.