I should warn you

And in pieces,
I tore my flesh
hoping you might make holy the bones,
knowing no setting
will replace
those pools of earthy grain
that make a home
and bring tendrils flowing from wrists so tightly wound
and though
mouth bound, feet rooted
eyes make rivers
that run the distance to you
wondering if you feel them, flooding the veins of you
when they are
gushing.
I wonder if your limbs fall off
when my heart makes a flesh wound
of itself, takes itself apart,
and if
after all this time
the nakedness, my wretchedness,
and our symmetry
could be made
divine.