You feel his hands on your skin
all the rest of your life.
It's a dirty feeling,
like being soaked with grease.
And in every orifice,
there's a trace.
What if I told you
to practice shedding those cells?
In a field, away from others,
knock them off, let them drop.
If something's left, burn it.
You know
the flame, the thing
that wanders from you.
Don't let it fly this time.
Wherever you hide it,
find it, feed it.
You'll pulse with hot, hot light.