"The light breaches like a thief of altars, baring the carto..
Added 2025-05-20 20:43:16 +0000 UTC"The light breaches like a thief of altars,
baring the cartography of my defeats:
here, where the south of flesh arcs
into a bow of resin and shame,
the foreskin lies as a wilted lily’s petal
beneath an obsidian crown’s weight.
It’s not manhood the lens ensnares,
but the moment desire bleeds out
into syringes of pharmacy and white powder.
The ring —ebony cell—
strangles not flesh, but the last gasp
of a god who forgot his liturgy.
My hands, pilgrims of an aborted rite,
caress the promise of a mast that never hoisted sails.
Sweat etches abstinence constellations
as libido, drowned in pills,
becomes a beast licking its wounds
under the chemical moon of 3 a.m.
What name suits this shadow-ritual?
Not sex, not prayer—
it’s the rust of a hymn
that once roared with glory
and now lies,
half-creature, half-corpse,
in the museum of vanquished miracles."
