The Bonfires Of Your Fleshy Store Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Soft carnivore, soft as an egg:
Eat me, as if I were your cousin, a gymnast in your mouth:
See me going my way deep inside you,
Nourishment to burn you against the snow:
Put me as a fire in your brown abdomen:
Help me be the fleshy carpenter to grow your house
A little:
A grape on a vine for a fox: a fire for a moth:
Let me give the surplus of my body to your beating heart:
Devour me, picking me out especially from the supermarket:
Here, I am, right legged- dancing,
Calling your attention, if not your love:
You said you loved me, but your feigned your advances
Toward my door: and the windmills blew steadily,
Exaggerating the satanic lips,
But I do not hope for your love, anymore: but to be devoured
By you, to be incinerated by your insatiable existence,
To disappear in the bonfires of your fleshy store.