SACRED SECRETS.

Fingers in motion
From mole men at play,
Who don’t have their sight
So must feel their way,
And follow the rabbit,
And find it today,
Regardless of what it might say.

You’ll see them on mountains,
But hills they prefer,
Especially the ones
That are covered in curls;
With holes in the middle,
Like oysters and pearls,
Awaiting the will of the world.

To find it and turn it,
And keep it aroused,
Until nearly sated,
And raised like eyebrows,
And then when it’s humbled
It may just allow
A stone from its glorious crown.

Those devilish mole men
Know more than most do,
And keep their hands tidy,
And fingernails groomed,
And when no one is looking
They make to renew
The balance that eyesight assumes.