


if i stare into the kitchen long enough i might catch a glimpse of delicate wrists, or nimble hands that perhaps, are attached to the lady i long for. if i see her, i’ll tell her i’m sorry for not getting to her sooner but i’ll make it right, i’ll take her out i’ll be the most devoted monk of her temple when the lady approaches, i suddenly stumble, practiced lines worthless after all. she offers forgiveness, more than i deserve, for this, greatest infraction of all. no prophet foretold ease no priestess had visions of speed. slow and plodding, observant and calculated, intuitive and sensual. i am armed with vices many and valuable virtues. perhaps im a drunk, an addict to the pleasures of flesh, i wish only the worst for myself and the best, for you. my kingdom, my kidneys, my God, for a lady like her.