Come in, my harbinger of flesh
My bayonet of light, king and lord.
I am your war and you are my cause
In this ache for a certain slice of violence
The raw taste of the root of life
The blade of the soul, sharp and clean and precise
Building like a waking of the limbs, a tearing of the hymen
And of lacerations born from birth, a lovely offense
It cuts open that which leaves ignorance and naivete
And that which touches the tip and toe of existence
Love, my love
With which scissored embraces fill the dance
One on careful ballets on broken glass
Come in, my harbinger of breaths
My bayonet of lust, adrenaline rush.
Vivien Marie Lopez Jorillo
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