i cannot see
how love can any longer fit
within this world. apotheosis
has long since passed
by my window white

with the lights of the lovers
and the cities and the cars;
the audacity of passion challenges
the horizon of this city:
unborn but dying,

even if i drunk up the moon
and lay bare in front
of the bulging chest that you call
love, i would declare:
this is the most beautiful farce,

it has become ancillary
to breathe into each other.
you demand too much bravery
when i bask in your lacking
tenderness, i know it is all arbitrary,

i am a secular profanity
and i will fuck you
as a form of agnosticism
i will fuck you
and you will think you have won.

but i have marched across
bloody footprints, smouldering
like the ashes of a cigarette
it is rebellion and oblivion,
simultaneously choking,

i think you held my hand,
once, it felt cathartic
to pretend you could love me,
but my stomach aches with the faking
of orgasms, unburnt and premature -

i take myself to confession.
nihilistically i have prayed
knowing that my only sin
was loving you
when i did not