profession

You no longer live, but I'm living at You:

Your hair, skin, nails

that I devoutly collect

like ruins of a god,

with which I built my own cathedral.

In my satanic lust

I seek the warmth that was once yours,

feverishly dreaming to inhabit

the magma of your innards

in a passionate trance

I climb the Olympus radius of Your eyes.

Humbly making myself available

for your judgment

(cruel and serene)

hoping for

unite.