Leviticus also said no haircuts and I guess you're skipping that one.

Stay humble to your repetition, your lines they are fragrantly brief. I won't deny my selfishness in the matter but frankly I see it as a necessity. You are always on the tip of my tongue. Salty and bitter your taste is a riddle. Ill defined is common place but ill received is a commodity. That little revelation itself is a commodity. It defies what we found so resolute does it not? In some ways the best thing to ever happen to you is your most pious regret, but Leviticus also said no haircuts and I guess you're skipping that one. Your measure is lewd and calloused, sunburnt from your treads upon the clay. You're meticulous in covering every crack, letting your foot rest on each on just long enough that the rubber from the bottom of your sneakers melts to cover the crevice. You leave a mess behind but the way you see it, you've changed it and your touch is gold so it's better than it was. But what about your touch to me? We both know it was with much more than a shoe, but I doubt you'll confess that to God. I know what you want me to. Every word you write has a projection, don't deny it. We're both guilty. Despite what you may believe you have sinned with furrowed brow and clenched eyes, in hopes that if you do it fast and dirty you will leave no one with a choice. All your recklessness does is leave you with the choice. I know you will choose yourself and so does God, so what's the point of even telling him? You don't love me but you always will and he sure as hell knows that too.