The Lamb

You and I
are conjoined
intrinsically entwined
by a skein of hurt

if you spilled my insides
before us now,
in the sanctity of this church,
they would spell out your name-
each nerve ending in my hand,
as they withered into death,
would surely reach for your face
one last time.

If I am to die,
here and now,
let it be your hand that holds the blade,
let it kiss my skin as
you pull me in:
trace circles on my back
as I bleed out into your lap.

It is by you
that I want to be known,
devour me whole,
let me be with you always
as you savour every part of me;
let me satiate you
the way you have satiated me.

I hear the angels whisper,
here in this room,
where you can see me
and I,
for the first time,
can see you-

you, for who you truly are,
no secrets,
no disguise,
just you-
teeth bared and bloody.

Take me,
for I am ready;
eat of me
until I am nothing but bone,
swallow me down,
let me stick between your teeth
as you tear me limb from limb

intoxicating idolatry

reduce me into nothing
and let me become your everything.