what are we, i ask myself
   i own
      no statement
only feeble questions

i see your blushing face asleep on trash
but i could never see my freezing heart
at ease at the fire's eager edge, only in it

now i offer life anew at your brick and mortar altar
where once i'd incinerate my own skin
maybe if i pray hard, i'll pray your apathy away
when words are all i have to give
it's the most fitting gift to receive

i suppose
      so

when i consign my primal urge to dead space
i consign in full view of destinies lost
grow dead to human touch

sniffing all the lacquer off your short nails
quick to bed, while high i await morning's rise
wakeful through the night, tooth to lip

   my wanting hand

      silently crawls

     my tender thigh