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9 January 2024

flagrante delicto

 a poor man is the image of want        and we don’t have a bolt to our names      but we have music       driven by demons        danced to by angels     the rhythm of saints and sinners       in eternal friction      as it is in heaven       so shall it be in hell    we got the tools      we can loose the lightning        it won’t stop     because we don’t stop        it was the language of our limbs        the lexicon of lust       that first betrayed our innocence       then exposed our love

we were caught with our pants down     and made ashamed of our bodies      but I’ve seen you with him       your faux lover     there’s no heat there      no magic     he will not feed your passion         nor spare you the force of his affections      so forsake his god of blood        come back to our tangled bed         we’ll dance the horizontal tango        and forget about tomorrow’s woes       at least until the morning       when we’ll be judged as monsters         by a jury of our peers

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