A Voice from the Flames

[tectak]

I looked over your shoulder as you chose CDs,
your thin white fingers stroking the case
of an album depicting my face.
Your hair was long and innocent,
my breath disturbed it like the wind
in a monastery garden, rich with what's alive.
I was there when your neighbour buggered his wife;
they grunted like my pigs when fed
the fingers of your darling kind, who can only scream.

I tapped on the windows of this very church,
and you thought I was just a dream,
lingering there on the old preacher's tongue,
when to an ageless God he sung.
Your music is wind in the caves of Hell,
your stadiums are my churches,
and all the faggotry of men, whose burning bright hair
resemble my flames, will doom you as well.

Hi hes,
Read the crits. I think I will wait for the next verse (seriously)
before I wade in. A bit lossy for me at first glance.....also I am a bit over-faggoted by repetition of same appearing in subject matter!
Best,
tectak