Faithless as the day
is to the hour, I am
moving into a new
body every second. Take. Bleat.
Do this in severance of me
from me, in reverence of you as you
swoon me, cocoon me in untimely
& iterant devotions. Body. Blood.
Man who thinks His flesh
transforms
guilt into grace, without a trace of
lust for this never-lasting
life. Nictitating
eyes that just won’t quit
strobing my face
back into my face. Lashes
stroking the space between
us, what will close, but not
like an image of promise encircling
skin encircling bone, but will last only
until last is another
sound that cannot be made
sense of. I do
not worship the covenants
birth brought us into. This
and this and bliss have
no affection for each other,
even the rules of self
love cannot fill them
with desire. What weds
be to be to will have
been seems nothing
more than the double
death of forget-
fulness and faith. Breath
being the only rhythm
still lacing loss
to its opposite, I can say I have broken
no promise, no bread that is not bread.
