Blessed Vices Of Adam

Blessed Vices Of Adam

Beacon between my fingers
Pungent smoke lingers
Warm porcelain in my hand
Tastes of a dusty land
Rolled on the thighs of virgins
Schimmelpenninck beckons
And the bean follows after
Each sip tasting cheaper
Each breath struggling more
What I adore, my lungs abhor
Of what once was
The earth that once was
Now preserved in the leaf
Preserved in the roasted bean
Tortured with fire
And steeped in water
Toys to occupy boredom
I taste the filth of Adam