This Ain't Carver's Goddamn Cathedral

Close your ears and hear your music. Close your eyes and see the thing you want most. Close your mouth and clench your teeth for the sweetness of blood we share beating. The beating of fists against chests because our ribs won't give, goddamn them, we hate them. When does hate become make love? Honey, it don't fuckin matter when you're blind, when you're deaf, when you're mute and your breath lingers in the taste of pennies. I pray, tearing the delicate skin from the caps of my knees, that you are close enough to smell it.