Obliterater

O how I want to peel your skin off and wear it like a shroud. I want to pop your eyes in my mouth like marbles. I want to spit your blood into secret language patterns on the sidewalk that only the two of us will understand. I want you like only lovers want death; hot, sticky and seeping into the dirty mattress beneath us. I want to rattle your teeth around like gambler's dice. I want to bury you in my crawl space. I want the bugs to whisper in your bloody ears. I want the worms to make a home in your empty skull. I want to make a shrine out of your shining heart filled up all hollow with flickering candles. I want to be your voodoo poet. I want to use your body to write my greatest and most violent art. I want to make musical instruments from your thigh bones. I want to make a bowl from your hips. I want your muscles stretched out for strings to pluck as the night turns starless. I want to plant your genitals deep in my garden beneath a big rose bush. I want your body spread over the ground so I can pick up the chunks and sew you back together all crooked. I want your lips sealed in a great glass jar set up on the highest shelf. I want your fingers under my pillows so I can sleep close to you every night. I want to eat you for breakfast every day and throw you back up every night. I want your body miles from the place you called home where you can only be mine in the face of a cripple dawn down in my deep dark hole. I want them to never find your body. I want tears to be the only time your name is ever uttered again. I want your love cut into little pieces all around me. I want you as only a obliterater in love can.