Hymn to the Infinite

O Goddess of the Deep South,
The end to meet all beginnings
strike me with a poker
collect your winnings.
I feel you in the tremor of my knees
rasping against my wrist.
My very own sultry, summer breeze,
wheezing, icing sugar hurricane
Just-ripe peach peeling out of your skin
consume me, burn me, devour.
Unthread me from your needle, and
waste away my darkest hour
I grant you the marrows of all my bones
and every piece of me you wish to take.
yet the tragedy is not that you are infinitely heartless,
but that my heart is not infinite for your sake.
For those that have surrendered to the hurricanes in their lives

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