Four Times Crossed
Myfanwy Collins


You come at night, my whorey little friend, with your skin peeled back and you sigh and you sigh and you spread your pimpled thighs for me so I can fuck you like the father who gave me birth.

          in the name of the father

You stick icicles into your eyeballs and tinkle-twinkle at me. I push them in deep until they touch your brain and I take my own two dicks and fuck your cold eyes.

          and of the son

You jump upon my back. I whinny, buck you off and bend your bony pony ass over the fence so I can fuck you from behind like a gangster or a goat. Bet you never had it so good.

          and of the holy spirit

You are so hot baby. oh yeah baby. oh baby. (I am lying to you.)

          in the name of the father and the son and the holy spirit

          in the name of the father the son the holy spirit

          inthenameofthefatherthesontheholyspirit

Four times crossed, you will not get me.

 

 

“Whenever I think of death, I make the sign of the cross four times—twice with each hand. I suppose I could wash my hands over and over or touch a doorknob fifty times, but instead I choose the father and the son and the holy spirit so that I will live forever or not die in that instant.”

 

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