on this sacrament, which i am convinced,
is placed on
every altar there is no blood,
but only life
and i am now the universal mother,
doing only what a father can do, pinioned
under you, giving up my pole,
like a cross or a pillar, or a breast
to your mouth so that you can enter
the second childhood, so that you
can feed and feed on my seed
and we are both transported
out of ego into longing
to becoming' to freeing,
to being
all that lonely, dough
faced men envision,
watching expensive videos while they
jism and waste away
we
were on fire
we were bright day