My body is water
but from dust was conceived.
I beg you to receive this filth that is me.
Like mud mold me until you behold me
as a shrine of your most unholy design.
Am I worthy?
Debauchedly ***** your flesh in this
wretched mess; on hands and knees
I mumble pleas to taste your breath
and drink your sweat. Violate me so
indiscreetly in every way obscene–
I’ll pray for God to intervene but
if he refuses we’re fated
for matrimony. This love we’ll
cement in a cemetery with vows
stolen from a eulogy. I’ll carry
a shovel like a bouquet and with
“I do” step into my grave.
But let it be known on my tombstone
that with open arms I welcomed
your charms. This is my future.
For what am I but an open wound
and you, my suture.