this mass of stitches and veins

this mass of stitches and veins
of ropes and hoses
this wild corpse that swings
still with nothing
but the licking you carefully do
wiping the fluids the catheters and the ruins
insisting
that I may keep swinging
fluid and light
a murmur of pleasure
a sight of scented roses and jasmines
far
far
far
from
the fight