I spoke to you in tongues. In melodic frightening speeches. Hypnotic and liberating. You told me. You told me I was an orator. So I’ve written for your audience. A triumph of one. The triumphant goddess. The beastly beauty that is your laughter when I spat jokes from the stage. And when I wrote the love poems. The sensual poems. The “make love till solar combustion” poems. You would blush. You would squeal. And I knew you loved it. But did you love me? I don’t know. I ask these question in my transformation. In rhetorical pondering. I’ve been converted to a saint of the sexual. And it’s not deviance. It’s talent. Given these liberties, these freedoms I have given life a messiah in you. And I haven’t been an apostle for too long. I want my lineage back. I want you back.