Is fearr Gaeilge briste, na Bearla cliste

Deadly sins surround me
God’s writ does not run here
Anymore. A sort of thin desire
Rules the roost and helps
Anger to bloom in me. 
Pornographers abound 
And make a good living
From this thin, twisted mockery
Of desire. We know the importance
Of blood, we cannot live without it. 
Do you want to drive the blood away?
Make my cheeks bleached?

My arrhythmia does not extend
To the short stitch of memory
My heart remembers to beat faster
To brighten my cheeks and make me happy.
I want to meet her in another life.
To gather memories
In the black hole of forgetting
Where stars emerge with the sweet sting
Of bitter love on the forest floor.
I will not flatter you 
With the rare fruits 
Of muscle memory.
I will not be cunning in brain or body 
I will seek out only the deadliest of sins.