the silver tines of lust

If a meaningless desire should trouble you, discard it.  Let Cynthia help you. Her thick black hair tied back.  Surely she will help you.  She must make it right.  We are going down into the place where we are afraid to go.  Hold my hand, I feel you tremble so.  Were you with me late last night, when the man with the repellent laugh cornered you and insisted you attend his seminar entitled the vague beginnings of human life? Below my taste, I must say. But each to each, and fair, comes this right willingness to bear, to bend, some call it foolishness.  But the silver tines of lust, are bent for her benefit, she will swallow you alive, although you are emmoiled by prophecy. 

I dearly hope, one by one, you will perceive the chief failings of the ministry; its deliberate and outmoded law.  Poignant moment for the guests who, by this revelation were, for the first time, unburdened and their lives were found sufficient.  Let no one boast they live alone.  We are all, each to each and every one, grim survivalists, who have it in for one another.  Give to me, yes, but also, stay out of my way.  There was sawdust in her hair, when she came past.  I wonder what circumstance put it there.  Words often sound like they should be put somewhere else.