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,