Angstloch

The thin oak planks rang out and stretched like the lashes on my back. I love her.
Ancient whispers of bread crusts and murky puddles in my rusted platters. We dance.
Organization of our soldered genitalia. Like a Chagal. Like a blueprint of winding afterlives.
Forever and ever and ever, my honey-soaked and lock-jawed bride. Animal hides and the erudite silk of dead eyes.
Her fingers grip the fibers of my aqueducts, click of motors. Bare bodies under the blankets of tongue-like leathers and permanent need.
Flowers for Christ. Oils from our severed, thick leg machines. Standing like memoria.
Her eyes reported me to the sindicate. Her waves spin tales of Oceana or Oceanus.
Lips that read the bare voice of my entrails.