i could not wash her from my skin,
my nest of thorns, my memory
lies trapped beneath her mortal sin
and grasping for her remedy.
i turned her face up to the sun,
buried my light under the ground
******* with reason, and undone
the end hangs heavy with the sound.
gentle serpent, fill up these veins
infect sublime serenity
between the comfort and the shame
i still hold on so cowardly.
for in that liturgy of dirt,
i hold my life, and all it’s worth.