The Irrationality—LB Roland

The touch of your skin reminds me
That within you is Paradise.
I know that Heaven lies at the back of your Throat,
And indeed Elysium spreads forth from your Loins,
That Eden takes root in your Rectum.

I know the bones that prop up your humanity
Can yet be purposed to pleasure me,
That the muscles that ache from your living
Can spring forth to spill my joy,
That the places you mediate with sustenance
You may take me in to sustain my needs.

All this comes to me at a touch
That this consort of papillae,
Though it may slave at your base requirements,
Is an act of rare grace in this universe,
And within you is Paradise.