Means My Love

Any good cultist worth their salt indulges:
wine from the cellar, zinc rings on every finger, whatever you can buy with your birthday money.
And you're telling me:
enough of this weird intimacy,
enough of the scrambling for the soft parts of your body
brittle and fleshy and indicative.
You can't know what it's like to make a sale in this company.
You cant see in the dark but you can make the whole drive that way.
This is the truth but I keep it from my followers.
This is the truth but I silence it in prayer.
The only way to get you to believe in something so rotten is to practice it until your hands grasp
of their own accord.
What will you do when it is given to you and there is nowhere to put it down?
Love the ritual.
Practice every rite.