For all the contradicted wonder I let you pour me;
my head was a vase that tolerated each and every song you sang.
Oh David and Jonathan, the honey on his beard.
Two biblical lovers.
Maybe in the heavens, the angels speak of us.
And history betrayed you, wrote your name in dishonor, and scrolled our manifestos with innocent blood.
Accursed is my name,
yet oh this pleasure runs through my veins now, for I need no name.
I make you the conductor of my inhalation, you pull and my lungs push as you taste my breath.
Will he disallow my heart if I told him he’s all I have,
or will you wrap me in your warmth and tell me the same.
Two biblical lovers, honored by the commandments of our antiquitation, sought and nourished. Unbound, unseen, undelivered.