As Shelley's God mad surgeon
I would skin your being
And sew it to mine,
The coarse stitches of your memory
Sewn into mind.
As embalmer to Pharaoh
I would pull your thoughts
Through your breath
Place it in the canopic jar
Of my every need.
I would burgle your senses
To make sense of my life
And at last your spirit unstuck
Would enter the sponge
Of my every greed.
