I watch you drag swans through a jagged fire,
smoky wraiths of fully-fledged nimbus
slithering past your irreverent lips.
Beauty genuflects when faced with desire.
A loculus sheltering idols, all false,
all equally impervious to my humiliation.
Prayers only hinder when applied without effort.
You arrange your genitals, the top drawer,
the books by the night stand, my heart so it suits you.
I fit you like a knife, like the pleats of a sacrosanct expression.
Good, is what kills you.