When I leave heaven it will be the

Curve of your wrists that damns me

Breaking my fists into the ground

Bloodied posture cut upwards like driftwood

There isn’t much you could speak that would

Change my mind

Slit me across the chest and break me apart

Every organ is yours

Bliss my skin in two

Fight my lips until I am particles

Split my eyes through sight itself

Leave me husked, beyond all

Loop my whole within your

Flicking Sunday wrist

& When this beyonds me

Slip what I held dear

Into the gagged sack drowning

In the crux of your tongue

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