Backslide, the tongue, tracing the stitches on the
Toltec pyramid I've erected to you.
I've begged permission,
let me walk into it's depths,
desecrate it,
splatter this *****
across the inner walls in hieroglyphics
that spell out the simple joy of our shared muscular spasms.

The hair on your
arms,
back of neck,
belly,
is standing *****.

I can feel it.