there’s a brushfire
spreading
from the roots of my hair
and downward.
soon
i will be consumed
by my own dark matter
(body erupting)
as flames burst
from my fingetips
and dip along the ravines
of hips that are sewn
with round bone and red
red blood- sacrificial in that they have met yours.

you being some descendent
of Mayan priests or maybe
a Christian saint.

it doesn’t matter.
i would give you everything
in the hopes of saving
myself
before the final
stages of this meltdown
(thermal energy leaking from
my lips).

i just want to be Holy.