now in shadow honey silhouettes
are each a metronome of dripping passion
roughed in gray face by gentle flames,
waxy licks run from saline tongues.
the stained glass is marked in shadow,
a rainbow chronicle of lust and waste
where martyrs are mortared and tasted
in the dewy sip from a piquant chalice.
statues flicker in the fire
that naturally claims
the sooty sweating brick
and persuades the pulsing vault:
a crypt of tongues lashes the mossy seam.