Alchemisland

Though her faith was plainly inert

The shape of her, her manner, all madame and sir

Suggested she was culturally church

Kind and demure, worthy church-versed virtues

But she had too some smuggled wildness

I spied a caking of mud on her good shoes

Often found myself doing what she told me to do

She rained away the dry dunes of my assured fate

And so became my weaknesss. Her levering sleekness

She was happy leading, happiest lapping at a skinflap bleeding.

One word and I would flee the surety of the herd, leave them.