Uneducating a Suicide Bomber

If heaven is a rest for the imbeciles,
the banes of hell my portion must be.
If cloud nine is a bordello,
and the streets of gold are carved along the red-light-district,
 then god must be a panderer.

Am I not already rewarded?
 My woman is: an orange, perfect in the sun;
 a watermelon, succulent;
a mango with sweet nectar;
 a passion fruit, freshly plucked.

One woman is ecstasy,
two is hell’s gate.
A saphead is a glutton for pure virgins.
 Lives foolishly forfeit for peculiar sayings.

Let not this bird fly,
for the two that is promised?
When god became a sexist,
it came to pass that man recreate himself, a lunatic,
and the woman he objectified became the dominant sex.

Covet not the splendor of paradise,
where the mansions in my father’s house are brothels
 perfumed with the scent of intercourse.
 A gift of seventy-two maidens
is an everlasting punishment.