Our idiosyncrasies are
What those who love us
Love to hate. You stutter
When you tell her
You love her true
And she knows
You really do
But prays aloud
To whatever god
May be passing by
(O let be
The hermetic one!)
For you to say it straight,
And so you learn to sing
The words to Amazing Grace
And she’s still not satisfied
And yet, though it’s no joke,
She laughs and sex that night
Makes the whole world shake.
Beast or god, each of us
Has our own.