enraptured

i fit once folded neatly, deep

into your silences, before

the involuntary evolution

of jagged edge plagued

by a sordid determination

to slice through —

i kiss your cheek, and adorn you with jewels:

i am your Judas,

but love you moreso,

and most brutally.

unable to reconcile

that you are not the well, nor

to discern between anointing and idol.

mother of the lens that makes art of you

is, however, not meant merely

to keep record of the Chosen.

impart unto me the hunger of your heart,

good and faithful servant, so

that i may be caught away with you,

not passed over, under

the weight of my own

starvation, and propensity for too little,

too late — tribulation saint

looking blood-skyward, awaiting war drum

that i will recognize

from the knowing of your pulse.