I bet you
envy
the birds that fly up high
in the sky--
when I reach for my nape

I bet you
hate
the sight of shoe and concrete
on the ground
when I scratch my chest

I bet you
lust
for the succulent arms
in front of you
when I lower mine

Here, lie down
Kiss the smooth surface
Make love with it
Lick it until you're dry
decrepit, and bare
blackened and battered

On your face, now.
Sinner,
your God tells you
to atone below
the arms of night.