Testo 9:9

Dressing in crosses
Wearing them strapped to our backs
Our hands and our feet,
wooden wardrobe paperweights

Awaiting the division
that follows the swing of the ax
Lust is crushed when we press forth Love is crushed when we press for them There was nowhere to go
(And while we're under the tires I'll keep you close in the fold)

My guardian was cast from the heights
I seek communion with this thrown one
Descending I search them out,
descending out of light
While my lover reaches to sway the sun