Dismantle this flesh, this bulwark of soul
Titillate earthen vestures, harbours of pain
Swollen with the ecstasy of their burden
Strip what remains with instruments of rage

Employ your moon-tapped fingers slowly 
Against my Jovian planet of fertile pulse
Disincarnate my innocence to nacre 
Supplicate the void until I compose you 

Offerings of strangled lambs, cut throat lips
I am obsessed to fulfill sonorous bounties
Inching along hooked smiles through veins
To the catacombs of man, the heart of a woman

Mason Betty, “Conventions Of Flesh (Plenty)” from Sallos