on me, a web
spun out from your touch
a fly in the milk at your lips
the glass finally tips out the blood of a god
onto the floor of a common girl,
pours down the cracks to swell at the basement door
i am born the flesh of virgins,
the blood of mary, the bitter hand
and though i love you
im not sorry
you say that im obscene and heartless, basically cruel, animal, artless
i dont mind
im just an instrument for what you never said
but always truly meant