by Nick Gisburne
I love the way your skin, so perfect, peels;
The sepsis in the sores between your teeth;
How creamy every leaking lesion feels;
The contours of the cancers, black, beneath.
I love the way your eyes, resplendent, rot;
The crackle of the maggots as they feed;
Your filth-infected fluids, quick to clot.
I worship how you suffer, how you bleed.
I love the way your fingers, fragile, break;
The mucus in the marrow of your spine.
Your body’s bile coagulates to cake,
A foetid fungus, festering, divine.
I love the faecal flavours of your heart.
Delicious, every bloated, blistered part.
