"Love makes your soul crawl out from its hiding place." ~ Zora Neale Hurston
The Martyrdom Of Saint Victor
And it came to pass that Saint Victor was taken from this place to another place.
Where he was lain upon pillows of silk, and made to rest himself amongst sheets of muslin and velvet.
And there strokéd was he by maidens of the Orient.
For fifteen days and nights strokéd they him, yea verily and caresséd him.
His hair, ruffléd they, and their fingers rubbethed they in oil of olives, and runneth them across all parts of his body for as much as to soothe him.
And the soles of his feet lickéd they.
And the upper parts of his thigh did they anoint with the balm of forbidden trees.
And with the teeth of their mouths, nibbleth they the pointed bits at the top of his ears.
Yea verily, and did their tongues thereof make themselves acquainted with his most secret places.
For fifteen days and nights did Victor withstand these maidens.
But on the sixteenth day he cried out, saying:
"This is fantastic! Oh, this is terrific!!".
And the Lord did hear the cry of Victor.
And verily came He down and slew the maidens.
And caused their cotton wool buds to blow away.
And their Kleenex to be laid waste utterly.
And Victor, in his anguish, cried out that the Lord was a rotten bastard.
And the Lord sent an angel to comfort Victor for the weekend.
And entered they together the jaccuzzi.'
Here endeth the lesson.
(Monty Python).
"Poetry doesn't have to rhyme, it just has to touch someone where your hands couldn't." ~ Rudy Akbarian