By Hannah Ojo

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Clammy hands long for
The hold of my own saviour.
Lips become parched, bereft
Of his lustful kisses.

My rending heart pants
After he who never stays away.
Burdens melt at the mere taste
Of his ever-shedding blood,
But only returns with a gargantuan force,
Knocking me off my already wobbly knees,
When his momentary bliss fades out
At the last drop of sanguine fluid.

My saviour is blessed with a long neck
And fat belly, where he stores up his riches
And also sleeps on a bed of ice.
Part us not, for though I hate him,
Love still stirs as of force of tornado.