You could have a beautiful daughter, you loved with all your heart, so much so you might question your lust. You’re on a little plot within your bigger plot of God’s 160 acres. The loneliness is nothing but a garden of Eden, which, by the way, was a boring place.
God was not ugly. Why not? God could have been ugly if He so chose. By being ugly, amplified by bad breath, God could have found a way, after expelling from pleasurable nude wreaths, cod pieces, shards of chard, canard, and picked chrysanthemum, loving breasts, of milk.
I felt her in that silent conclave, where she, and I cherished her for it,
Went to it to banish it,
NYC, particularly Broadway, where sweet baby child, of blessed sweet perpetrator mint, as a Julep, a Tulip, might sweetly suck on a pinky finger, to linger, to lust– for a newborn– Christened a sweet born–
Spam of Human Affection 
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