take your ageless arrow
fit it in your ageless bow
and shoot your gift of affection
right through my turgid heart:
then, tell me a story about "flaccid thereafter..."
and when you're done painting pages
of sorry stories, with the crimson tears
of my bleeding heart, gather your arrows,
like woods for a campfire,
break your bow, and strike a match,
watch the flames of us reach unto heaven,
and then, hide your baby face in shame.