Forgive me, beloved,
for I know not what I do
with this terrible
overwhelm of beauty
before me, beside me,
pressed at the doorframes of my
Her soft body maddens the veins,
mutilates the heart,
and swells within me.
And I am afraid this is who I am,
this bend in my wrist toward crooked things;
the way the pain pins her mesh sick wings
to the whispering floorboards.
Is this who I am. These expert invisible hands.
I am troubled of this knocking
against the spine cage.
Disrobe me as the moon clutches at the
breast, at the stomach, for absolution.
I am afraid this
must be my nature,
the threading of my distorted face,
for this howl floods the house with silence
but never does she leave me.