Amor de la mort . . .

amor de la mort . . .

I feed on our ritual of flesh;             lashing—

                   wilting   rose carrying our holy wounds, wet

                   and wailing—                   

                   you cry,      “pray       the rosary            on sore

                                                                            knees—

                                           into darkness,”                                                             

                                                                            sultry hell

 

   amor, hold our always;    a romantics’ consecration

                        for you   with legs spread

 

                                                        licked against      offering                                       

                                                        warm cunt

 

                                      I bleed for                            a communion

                                                                                                            

                                                  your inflamed palms

                                                  and worship         

                                                                                 of heart.