Becka--email me; plus, Sorrowful Mysteries

   
   "Becka--email me; plus, Sorrowful Mysteries"
   
   Ginger.  Ruby.  Scarlet.  Cherry.  Wine-colored, and your lips are wine; moreover, I want to get drunk with moderation upon your kisses.  Not screw.  Don't work @ HOME DEPOT.  LOVEMAKE, and all the sins taken away by tears upon a foot not kicked by a Virgin--a heel never wounded, but victory, as is the 2nd Law of Thermodynamics, never ceasing to change.
   You're not cottage cheese in the rump.  Not sinned into by activity spied by big brother, yet seen by God, Him truly Big Brother.  Hell, I've photographed myself naked, for cameras enlarge things.
   First earliest pics of Jews in Egypt were of blondes and red-heads.  Jesus a Nazarene--from the North of it ALL.  The Son of David LIVES forever.
   Yes, I understand weirdness.  Met a coyote once--the only time I ever called the cops.  Its eyes, into me, a few inches away.  Second unto the Great Spirit.  Bizarre, and teaching through weirdly arcane humor.  Misunderstood, yet loyal.  The Fool Card, as is the Book of Tobit.  A white dog and man dancing, knowing he has all the tools, but no common sense, and I can prove my lack of clarity, yet angelic symmetry wending against the monster of misinformation--enuff.
   Email me Becka--you have my business card with my last wife on back--she's Italian and so hairy I used to call her Chewbacca.  I've seen yeast infections up close and personal.  I've braved a doomed cavity of intercourse, where discharge was delinquent.  Just weird and friendly.  A dog.  A tame dog, but they swarm me like bees with their untruths, as Saint Francis says:  "Don't let me be understood, but let me understand."  A FOOL for Christ.  And what is better than love and matter taking up space and having the mass of kissing a truthful ass?  A true friend--to the end.  A barber, a monk, a grocery store clerk, and a confessor willing to drink the piss of love for a truthful tradition's sake.  Email me. 
   And as it is Friday, we mourn, but are comforted during the Holy Rosary, knowing the Cross is not the Omega, but just the beginning of a fourth dimensional self.