Hammers blow and tumblers

give, you’re so fucking pretty
when the napalm flares blind
the sun. I am anointed.
Can I want you? Can I build
you a cathedral to house
my god, a memento mori?
Whatever death you offer I
would kneel before
the wolf at my throat.
If I could be who you wanted
would I be the perfect gun?
Every desire a prayer, every
atrocity anatomically correct.
Feed me your fingertips before
they are blue, before they are lost.
I know what I am capable of
and I know what burns, but I want
overlap in the replica and realness
of what your voice means.

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