Your mind's a cornmaze for me,
Heathen with a jungle-gym heart.
Your body's been my playground
And church in equal parts.
Running rampant through your halls,
Bouncing from bed to bed;
Fervent consuming in your favour,
Pouring oil over your head.
On weakened knees I worship,
Converting a saint into your sinner.
Left begging atop bed frames,
Tantric teaching for a beginner.
On our backs is beauty noticed;
Home sought in wrinkled sheets.
Whittle away hours toying
Where the church and playground meet.
