2,
Gamogenesis.
Cymbals littered with crue entrails.
Of death, of death, of death.
O ye of death wish
Grant,
Henna stained hair, henna stained teeth, a second tongue in lieu of a mouth palate.
Of placenta, of amniotic gruel, of stuffed umbilical chords.
I die and in my grave you visit me
You are the lipidic membrane of every odd cell of every maggot feasting on my knee, oh how you loved my knees.
Burnt pubes and flesh eating apple sauce?
Moths to a eulogy to an epitaph on a grave that’s too empty to scare.
I’m not there
Raise me up, oh great Maj
Drink my tar blood and sink thy fangs in my vulva
Widower and widoweress.
Of blood, of blood, of blood.
Maybe i die, maybe you die, but in your rectum we generate golden excrements forever and ever.
آمين

