it must end where it all began.
in the basement of his mother’s house,
two days before Christmas eve,
when a red-breasted robin will
make footprints in the snow.
it must end here, on the couch where
you sacrificed his virginity at the altar of your temple,
when you cruficified his body
and nailed his palms to your back;
he told you he loved you that day
and now you must tell him
as you straddle him close to your womb
that he is incense sticks in a rain storm
and you are too much for him.