There’s a holocaust
sweeping through my body
but i call it
love,
strap myself to its stake
as a sacrifice, relish
how its fire
dignifies me,
how the tongue-like torso
of my scent
rolls out to taste
God.
You, with the hot air
for hair, you
with the sparking skin,
feed my flames,
you
hearteater, the mouths
on your cheeks
open wide
& I enter, as if to join
the rest of me; see
how all that is left
circulating in my veins
is your voice; my body,
now inanimate,
an instrument for your
heartsong—hear
its cinders sing like
cicadas—here
is the sequel to your stones
thrice striked.
