Molten

Her hair were molten reeds of copper
and it wiped violently at the sky
only to fall defiantly to her shoulders
and as her back arched, and her spine
contorted slightly, like tectonic plates
moving the skin of the earth
i heard her lungs thank me
in heaves of content, listing
who i was,
telling me i was christ
Making my creviced lips
pollute her skin
making my salvia
the dew of diamonds
on her withering flower
Finding her soul
as she rolls her
eyes into
the back of her head.