We were no blank canvas selected by a soul.
Ask your tarot reader, she will read from
your book of days, tell you that your actions
were apportioned to a family line.
Your soul choose this --
'tis your soul that is marked by societies that pursue pleasure
and their sum is in presentation of ritual.
Skills that good prostitutes learn early.
It was an amorous looking-glass you went a courtin'
to fright the souls of fearful adversaries.
A stick of nicotine may be displayed.
Its plumbed paper with golden tip beckoning
a treat that compliments the sup; whiskey
served in crystal, tinalinging its age
like when a tea spoon flicks off the lip
of grandma's best china cup. The sound
depicts a ritual treat of cottage gardens
and afternoon tea.
It was an amorous looking-glass you went a courtin'.
to fright the souls of fearful adversaries.
For there was holiness in ritual.
It was alcohol that Christ used. Wine
into blood not mother's milk into blood,
as ingesting alcohol was serious business,
but which of us was aware of ritual,
as we faced into our first with the innocence
of the foolhardy or the brave.
And it's strangers that sit in judgment
never those who love us,
or who are unfortunate (maybe) to be loved
by us. Isn't it only right that one should
protect oneself when imbibing?
It was an amorous looking-glass you went a courtin'.
to fright the souls of fearful adversaries.