Might and Love

And I gave her the plague. Like a gift. A tremendous gift. A thing of beauty and rot.
It was that desperation of desire that kept us stitched together like so many monstrous parts. Together, we were whole. It didn't matter if most days we chose to just lie next to each other, caked in disease and naked, using our nostrils to filter out wisps of dead skin as we breathed.
Too deep, our devotion. Vast and all-consuming, a grand fire on some unholy night of fucking and redemption.
We would be redeemed. Through our bodily discourse. Through intercourse and purging. We would be redeemed. We would have it in so many ways.
And once we peeled ourselves away from each other, we would have peeled back the skin so that new forms would seek out the light and obliterate it.
With our tendrils of might.
And the agony of love.