Sanguine Poetry

you shall have no other 
gods before me
doesn’t work
if you are polytheistic. 

I worship many women
plump and full as 
my beating heart, a flower that
bleeds bruises for their beauty—
a heathen for their souls,
uncivilized and uncontrollable. 

in the middle of the earth I wait
sunlight kissing my skin
fire carressing me 
until the ashes of my sins
sting my face and blush my cheeks
with murky soot—

as the fire consumes me,
I lose my mind in the chaos 
collapsing my naked body into 
their senseless warmth,
shuddering and bursting like a 
dying star. 

my body is theirs, 
my mind is blank in surrender—
my screams are their silence as 
their nails brand 
my flesh, so rightfully theirs. 

according to Freud,
we all want to fuck God—
but often this lofty goal is 
never quite achieved…

veins bursting with clotted hope,
erections reaching towards the sky—
we open our throats, letting out 
screams of carnal lust to touch 
our saviour’s phallic symbol,
desperate to unlock
the secret to heaven’s oblivion. 

yet the world forgets that I 
shall not have 
any one god before them all—
and thus the world scorns me 
for having what its wants—

I have touched,
before all men, 
the unearthly embers 
of a woman’s beauty.