Your back fits the mold of my cavity
and this parabola of mine joins us together.
Looking down, I think cornucopia,
you think ribcage, and from it we agree
that you can eat. Allowances were made,
and yet my flesh and body was ravaged,
whole. Handprints feast in the midst of
salvation. Hymns found hmmms.
Hm. You make a myth
out of me. I make a travesty
out of you. Near
is the Hour that will be here.