Gallows

Love
is,
invariably,
fatal.
You say logic, weightless;
I say lead shoes.
My souls
will slough
your slick, slithering gloss.
My wing span
breathtaking in unslouching repose, in
my mind's eye;
crisp, colourless, virginal;
no matrimonial shift,
consummatorially stained,
cuffed, anchored by the
chastity gallows unbalancing the hands.
Love? If your word is truth,
abandon matter, defy
gravity—join me.
Else become it
and be strapped to stone.