A Eunuch Stutters

The saddest
Cower. I'm 
Actually loving
You. I,

Being your
Hell. I,
Dissolving into
Your linear

Cornea's domain (the
place of doleful
remembrance,  
because of forever tiny

presence), but
Still, your brightness
Touching, touching
Looking for

Connection. Linguine.
But eyes, and that
Chestnut vulnerable.
My intriguing.

My untying. Sorry, but
I'm frequently
Thinking you. And
That's your poison. But,

You, I think, beyond
Bible, me,
Wrong, I,
So damn

Sorry. You,
Gone, and, me
Not capable 
Of confidante,

Mature, gustingly
Provider.
Sophisticated
Statue, and

You, my
Milieu
Twist.