Flesh

I, demon, take thee, dull flesh, to abuse to death.


You are my expressive carnal puppet -
my completion in a sensual world;
a tactile vehicle to explore humanity.


You hide me from myself -
drowning me with narrative and doggerel;
meaning and noise.


Your hints of elusive communion are cruel -
bliss just beyond impenetrable frailty;
a prison perfected by inadequacy.


Frustration is unavoidable.
You are all I have.