Ian Francis O' Reilly
We are like clasped hands, unseperable.
Each Limb interlocked, unrecognisable!
The lines of our different identities fused
So much so that our beings become confused!
Our crowns of silver and black gold
Are the statements of a love so bold,
So intense as to create a glorified collision.
To dream on the future as an outright vision.
Shared heat and gentle copulation
For an end result of pure scintillation!
A relationship writhing on the ideals of ideals,
Through her I know how good purity feels.
The hand as a primative or an intellectual ...