(content warning) Transcendence and Urges

[tectak]

Her body's God to me.
Springing from an ancient well of joy,

it yields to my fists.
I knead its hills and valleys

like a giant crawling through Yorkshire.
Which god would deny man its beauties?

(The same god who created
and filled it with hate for man and his urges.)

She's dead tonight,
lost in an artificial sleep no-one could approach.

Lecherous physician,
childish necrophile,

I touch and lick, breathing hastily,
an African boy at a trough of meat.

She'll wake tomorrow and read scripture
while torturing herself,

unaware that I've broken our pact.
Picture her stuck to the cross,

nails where nipples should be,
poking through her tits in halos of blood.

Her cunt is a tangle of thorns
no husband could touch or child escape.

And on her face are the orgasms she's denied man,
as rivers of heavenly light pour from her eyes.

Shit,
I KNOW that girl!!!
Yes to this Hes. There is never going to be a better word for cunt so it will become the only one word cliche in the english language. All hangs together nicely but "her body IS God to me" works better for me. Nipples, tits and cunts in close proximity keeps the overdose local and I kind of like that. In out, shake it all about.
Yorkshire...my birthright. Yes. Bosom bens in Scotland, but Yorkshire has clefts and cracks as well. Love it for its edginess, too. Serge Gothicifies it, as he would say. Now't wrong wi'that. Si'the in Whitbi, yorks.
Not nitty. Punctuation perfect. Do it again.
Best,
tectak.