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I glory not in the darkness of holes, where pistons do thrust and cylinders moan. Machines bent on executing a need, they degrade self in pursuit of the deed. Into gaping maws they frantically drill, mandible ministrations make tools fulfilled. Never a thought for cylinders bleeding, scythes lay low with destruction careening. He’ll fill a hole whether fore or aft, makes no difference to this man and his staff. Thoughtless pursuit of orgasmic pleasure, clothed in anonymous lace and in leather. This sickness may call either day or night, no love for any within his dark sight .

This dance macabre makes me shudder in horror, can honest love restore Holy order? What of love and this moldering menace? Some sins removed only with great penance.

But sinful too aesthetes who deny flesh, those wearers of hair shirts in testament. Deniers of body who forsake life’s force. Shouters that things corporeal are too coarse. Refusing to see that flesh is a gift created divinely, lives to uplift. Sexuality an engine dynamic- pushing us forward with energy frantic. We can wound with swords, we can slash through sheaths, or lovingly embrace His great release.

We each choose to take our gift from above and use it for love or to subdue and club. The energy’s here for all to see, the harness’ shape up to you and me. I pray that we conceive of our strength and striding forward it’s love that we make. Flesh intertwining is part of his plan we can enraptured be as loving man.

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