your slightest look,
it seems will easily unclose me
though i try to close inwards
see nail marks on my palms

your softest word,
it seems will easily unloose me
though i try to pile layers
and read the book of psalms

writhing spirit,
who sees my intent?
who knows i'm a whore?
i've dreamt and i want more

my blood approves,
and imagination sings
then gravity my conscience remembers
i'm dashed upon barren ground