Desire. To lose it is the way, but best to leave few; so that in the end, it gets you and not be astrayed from nurturing a multitude. I’ve so much grease in my hands now a days... it seems the grace of angels are sexier than how I first thought they would be. Even heaven has its law... aren't we all offenders of some sort? I often think of sex...and having the absurd thought of encompassing both genders and how being an asexual, one could formulate and enjoy schemes for pleasure and beyond... perhaps that's how one becomes god... by providing mind candy and something intangible.
I look all around me and I see reproduction... I see procreation, I see procrastination. I can't let go of hate, not now... not when I’ve rediscovered the joys of masturbation. Mental, emotional, and spiritually stroking my most private of privates. I hold in my hand your lost prayers from the wet dreamlands of your sexual role. My heart beats... and flutters across the skies of fleeting heat... of skin and sweat... the ones tucked in the vicinities of your darkest nights. I’m folded in your name and with your wants. I am. And then I fear. I rise to the impersonal claims...

Needed and blue.
I am either fulfilled or broken,
suppressed only through the actions of you.