Winter wrapped his pulse,
but sweat, slicked his hair
in dark planes against his skull
and flicked from his brow to steam the air.
Sins, spun in lurid tales,
warmed the parishioners gathered there
and melded into tender lulls
like love's soft snare.
Grandstanding stunned,
as did his glint-eyed glare
but as his indignation climbed
his tempo flared.
So, key words were missed,
of carnal laissez-faire
from some phantasmagorical fount,
and sensitivities spared.