You allowed me the bitter fruit
of a long search that waited.
And the truth:
Serpents do live in paradise whose
tentacles caress and
fan tainted lust shared
in the garden of temptresses dark.
Betrayal’s sickly ache
pursues me like a poison
whose venom I cannot assuage with opiate
neither spit nor vomit
I hurt and I hate.
Away this life if Celibacy’s death
in deserts cold bring but short warmth.
I have loved and lost.
And you, God? You laugh.
15 September 2006