A rumble elicits before a grunt
Each slit, an inch you maim
Set by a thump: two sets of feet.
Feet slide down your back the same
Tips of fingers on a run: tap, tap, tap.

Your flick bright,
Alabaster like
An unnamed saint
I’d canonise softly, with a sigh.

A sight to see.
Indeed,
You extricate a garden off the earth
A sculptor handling bronze,
Licked in salt and sweat.
Sweetness, melanated girth.

Then you huff, close-in
Nearing my neck as a king
I first feel tired
Kneeling tightly, high, a considerable martyr

At your mercy I capsize.
I am a ship, a wreck.
So Raphael, know, when my ******* drip wholly
Into your chest and into your hands,
So is my soul. So is my heart.