You talk to me and tell me that love makes the world

That from dust,

Man and woman go forth sharing ribs

And Lie in Holy Union, with gold rings on their fingers

A symbol.

That Solomon was pleased,

And sang  in the rapture of our bodies

And that God himself is blessed by my sex,

Offered on silver platters with fine fruits and juices

 for dancing and sweating in the milk

Of our skin.

 

That we would call to life a miracle.

 

For this is how it is

And how it always was.

 

Well, Satan get your tongues out of my ear

I saw you go down on my love and suck his sweet milk

Into the pits of your stomach and spit it out

Into the eyes of the young

A poison of addiction

A craving

A pathos

Marriage never makes it to the altar now

As couples trip over the legs of their adulteries in the aisles

And spouses sit seething resentment 

At the ball and chain they forged in the years

Before this insidious silence and raucous despair.

 

So, I guess its just you and me,

your last daft martyr,

believing in love,

And thee

Casting our eyes for one decent man still alive.

 

You can have the scorn from the joke of me,

And Ill give you the hair from my Samson

And together we'll sow another tree and start again.