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Were Christ to eat, to dine, to feast on such a delicacy sweet and fine,
Were such cleanliness ate that be mine,
For the filthiest of swine are fit to eat his bread and wine,
but only the taste of such divine can put you ona plate to dine.
Your promises conceal and hide,
yet tenderness assured inside.
To bring that sweetness to my lips,
to caress and mark it with a kiss,
to taste your blood as it runs fresh,
and taste every inch of your flesh,
to feel your essence flood me still,
that which christ unfit to fill.
That, I wish to taste and feel such tenderness,
what I would do for just one kiss.
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If it can be destroyed, it SHOULD be.
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Picking the Scabs
