Poetry

The arch 
in the targeted killing 
was the bet when you 
lost your virginity. 
 
A slow dance 
at the cold river of flesh, 
with genitalia wiped off. 
I was constructing- 
 
your genome 
from you saliva. Prayer 
was a form of begging 
before an unpardonable sin. 
 
The gradient 
parting the hills will 
find another arena 
to start the game.