Give me more of tor to weigh and store do feast my blood on shore
a lore the least. East more: high noon in noun, deep verse in verb; hollow
my fallow and pump upon meat. More I score of food to flesh the
mouthing cord; I hoard before buoy, beast, or bellow boy, water prior to
the waves within: thirst raise ocean, eye dawn star, and more and more
my endless skin. My voice vectors volatile. Meal are symphonies: teeth
sinking skin syncopation; bones breaking bones tambour; outpouring blood a river harmonious; flowing syntax my pores. I reach your breach,
fulfill my treat. More food to dine: knowing calfs, showing stomach of young slaughter, breast, thigh, hip and rib, shoulder, neck, chin and grin, more intake, more mountains in which to eat. Together we dine. I ache
the arches of your castle form, I crush your columns down, strike soft
your stone. Come on wings made aural and find your place. I flesh
solitude. Do feast on sound to call to death my own. Do rhyme do writher and come here hither, food to dine an entire line to end. Consume and
perish. Heap the plates, unleash the mounds, murkle drawn circles to
pact intact, derelict the story made lust by fact. You fly, you flee, alone I lie
and die to crest my lyric in coherent brook of house and home. Abhor my shore and intake more.