Sluice me, stop my breath—still my
life to this, my fist
taut, a hand of fingers feeds my
flight to here, to this.
Easy, nearly still my body is
my fist that fills,
loosely closed, its collar, bracelet,
captor cunt that feels
hot, a hood of blindness shorts my
sight, a glove of skin,
greasy throat a route where lightning
enters, offers twin
crucifixions: spitted flesh by
flesh made two in one,