Blood Vows On the Altar of Want
It's the body,
it's always the body
which calls you,
even though it uses you up.
You swear never again,
yet the body pulls you out
to shackle you.
We are all addicts
to cellular flash-fires,
the curving crests of pleasure.
It's not her or him, it's you.
You sacrifice a transient truth
to immediate need,
vow to love
in a blood burning moment,
and almost mean it.
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