From what lips shall you know me?
Will they be bitter to the soul as with each drop of vinegar that descends upon the desert’s thirst?
Or will they be as sweet as the honeybees nectar?
Be discerning of every morsel that lies upon the tongue
Through which eyes will my vision be painted?
Will it be by the hand of the passive, uncultured novice?
Or will it be through the winsome strokes of the fertile master’s brush?
Choose wisely that so dutiful gaze to beheld
By whose hand will my passion be expressed?
Will you feel my essence through the callous, cold, grasp of unrefined paws?
Or will the soft, perfumed palm hold memory of me with gentle caress?
Give careful consideration before receiving that uncharted embrace
For truth may lie betwixt warring persuasions and hidden by reluctant reasoning