I wish to drink from the goblet
in which the blood of my crime resides.
just to taste the melancholy and feel it
burn down my throat.
no, I don't wonder what the pure feel
as I ****** my thoughts and desires.
I just want to gobble up the wispy tentacles
rising from your God's shrine.
I'll hold back your hair
while you ***** the poison.
and watch you lick the back of stamps
as you send a digressed prayer his way.
I'll clasp my hands
I'll bow down till I crack my spine.
I'll do it all.
with my lips pressed to my goblet.