The Abattoir

Chunks of lamb-hearts studded on your teeth;
Let me wear these intestines as if they were you,
You have my permission to whistle.
I’ll call, beg, baa on,
Sawed heads in love.

Can you hold my hoof?
Wash down your blood with my knife,
My meat cleaves, my razors,
Whatever

Oh we can sell ourselves off in pieces
& Wind back together.
I’ll hiss you in a pie,
You’ll hiss me in a soup,
Hear the pan’s oil giggle.

Roses on my neck,
And love in my ears,
I can hear your heart bleat
We hang from our feet like the night,
And the air our silvery sheath,

I can kiss your carcass into dust.
You can kiss me to blackened bones.

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