Head on the ground.
Not much to see within
this hollowed body,
Swerving around
in the passage of a vacuous aorta.

One look of you-
and my stomach is upside down.
Loud retinas processing
a radioactive image of
heat and danger.

To this Hell, I am bound
if I continue speak and stare.
Hiding in silence is unnervingly peaceful;
until I touch one thread
of your reckless web-

and begin playing
a mind cassette
of the many times
I washed his feet with my hair.

Only to find that
the saviour was a fragrant sinner.