Little phallus, age 4
Grows up and learns well
From the killer he calls Dad
Gazes up into his eyes
Sees the ruined phantasy

His sapphic longings
Trapped inside a rape tomb
His hard exterior thrusts
Leaves a graveyard of wounds
To heart, hymen and sphincter

His sapphic longings trapped inside
An ecclesiastic tomb

Say a rosary
(For our father)
Kiss his feet
Lick his finger
He tells you
You’re a real ride

Is it his or yours? (confused by)
It isn’t yours to know (the impulse)
Reach beneath the cloth (slip inside me)
Nobody will save you (from this rapture)
His sapphic longings gagged and bound
Inside the phallic tomb his father gave unto him