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Unboxing Apocalypse - Part 2, We Will Make Love Roasting
(Elai:)
Then let the flame be the altar.
Let our skin crackle like old vinyl records,
looping the moan that ended time.
Let the kiss taste of ember—
the tongue, a brand;
the breath, smoke that carries
our names to where gods go to weep.
And when our bodies fuse
between passion and combustion,
I won’t beg to live.
I’ll beg to die with you.
So roast me gently,
my pyromaniac lover—
and in your fire,
I'll open like scripture,
page by page,
until there's nothing left
but holy ash.
Now light the match.
Copyright ©
Kell Futoll
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