Gouts, Maybe gout

Gouts,
when old age creeps in
Taking away the flush of youth
and hobbling is all that is left
will you still care for Me
Take My hand and
place the whip in it
 
Can that gout cure me of My
inflamed desires
watching that arm raise and fall
repeatedly,
incessant rain pours
washing away His sins

Yet what will show save the next

Leans forward and eats His own
off the tip of hers
   swallows and then takes hers
cuts it off
staunches her flow with His

Hold that pose indefinitely

Are those gouts
  Or shall I say they are gout

They dance, they skirt,
never finish.
where shall it take them
where shall it end
never beginning, never ending
the strains of the shehnai
fills the air.