Thursday, 11 October 2012

To You, Who Would Be Saviour

of battle-scarred toms and
anal-bruised annes

our cloth sizzles
and shreds under iron's
hot hand

everything must fall apart
it is written under shrouds
and inside virgin coffins

My Love,
I do not doubt
there was a time
Your Love

could hold me high above
my saviour's firing squad.

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