By definition flesh is flawed for we
have blemished it, perverted what was made
in God's own theme, what was created to be
perfect. We, in our supreme crusade
to die, have deperfected the divine
reflection that once was cast from heaven's throne
upon the waters below. That decline
of flesh, frail, by nature both eager and prone
to sin, sponge-like in a legionous sea,
the viral host itself of all opposed to God,
God assumed for us, but sinlessly,
blemish unimbibed or fleshly flawed.
For that which is sin's home but not its native,
He, sinless, died that we might, sinful, live.