Temptation 

In the dark convent under a Dunelm duvet her fingers move

where her mind meanders. That inkling of imagination;

a phallic pentagon, the snicker of stallions, hardening of flesh

flashes her betrayal to paranormal thinking.

 

In the Victorian vicarage he surfs the Dark Web to download

his deepest desires. A soul lost, a fallen cassock linking

him to rings of secrecy, the flotsam of introspection, the

jetsam of fear, drowned by paranormal thinking.

 

In the former manse, the Imam removes his thawb, adopts

cheap jeans, sweaty T shirt, his eyes blinking from the godly

sun shimmering on gleaming minarets. Awaits his taxi to the

honeypot of community relations blind to paranormal thinking.

 

The wrinkled priest above confession, his mitre propped on a

table, his hand ruffling through fine hair like a dandy rabbit,

his muffled gasps like a man sinking. His Mephistophelean

destiny long ago determined by paranormal thinking.

 

Oh men and women of cloth what chance have we?