I'm okay until she puts on her shirt,
Then the rest of the world
Crowds back into the room,
And there's not enough Gandhi
And too much Gulag
Pulling me towards the
Bathroom toilet drain.
I'm afraid I'll slip,
Drop into that copper-pipe
Shitslick labyrinth
And emerge dripping
In some gristle mill
Of my own orchestration.

I'm okay until she denies me
The fruit of her tree of knowledge.
She is Theresa, she is Eve:
She is a messiah
I will crucify in effigy.
When I've bled my sin
From her veins,
Maybe I'll feel righteous
Again.