you take to knees

She's making a sport out of eating underneath winter's chilly freeze as you're marveling at the obscenity of your body. You take to knees, clasping your hands tightly (not quite, but more or less, genuflecting). You recite a dirge (for either a funeral fire or a birth blaze) in a sing-song voice. Next, you pleasurably burry your face in your hands and then proceed to burry your capability (the possibility) to make a choice. Her eyes are moist. Your underwear are drenched. Your thighs are clenched (as well as your teeth/fists) and sweaty. A Brown Betty teapot is blowing off steam in a myopic, yet far away, dream. Not everything is what it seems but everything seems to be what it is, regardless.