The Words Betrothed Forever to Flesh

The flesh isn’t marble, divine,
Demonic, or a haunted grove.
You are flesh. You have skin. It breathes.

Everything that flesh wants, you want,
Coming down to pleasure for you
In the flesh, coming down to death,

Which is just your flesh becoming
Something else wavering, losing
You somewhere along the process.

Still, we are here to attend you,
Your material servants, airs,
Inks, and waves emerging from flesh,

And if you ask us, you in flesh,
Ask of us to say that your folds
And lobes, machineries of pores,

Are violets, marl, heaven burnt,
Ebon, oak, idols, ecstasy,
Whatever you want us to say

You are, flesh is, the world itself
Not as it is itself at all,
Sweet, salty talking skin, we will.