Emotions, caught at the back of the throat, as the third wing destabilizes the presumptively 'true & only' Path to wherever the projected destination may be imagined to be a Place....always distant from wherever the Faithful gather in cohesive clusters, like sand as it is pummelled by raindrops.....
a Millennium past......As yet, to vibrate upon the lips of Modernity.....issuing from the reddened lips of assumptively hermetic Paganism, drunk on the Philosophies from which Science supplants Religion and becomes the thing it replaces.....kissing these lips to my own paleness, with pleasures...
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