Possibility of guiltiness-a proclamation far from your tongue
Forked by serpentine intention and slithery mensonges.
The claret deception seethes, rankles and smirches with fever strong.
There's no relief from this fiery fate, no silvery lozenge.
Lips enslaved by pavonine pride
Never reach palatal spontaneity.
They deform, upturned, tongue coiled inside,
Tempered and arched in false gaiety.
An obelus tattoed across that inky orifice
Accuses in an imprecation, too stoic to forgive.
And as you drown in oscitant ignorance, bathed in bestial bliss,
Their, our, kingdom must exile you and your self-condemning sieve.