I always invited you
to touch my past
for an impaled―

prophet, who was
adored after his death.

Why were you always becoming
extraordinary, accepting
the closeness of flames?

Was there any ending of a play
which had not begun?
Was it interchangeable?

The mutants had
a field day. You ought
to have remained unchanged
like Venus.

Kissing the pale lips
of a martyr? What am I
doing to you!