Can we both be liars If that is love's bolus During healing after its tendons Have burst from the journey inward Pulled to the cadence of masochism as rest; Measuring passion via who is most afraid; Built from the strength of a pretender Is the jealously guarded pleasure of original sin Exude as the huntress of prayers The paralysis riddling a plum picture With melismatic eschatological gusto: This will always be the hem of your experience