I have come to know this flesh, this bone,
this bomb that ticks within my vein,
the bristling quick of every nerve.

I have learnt to love the faithless pulse,
the calculations of the cells,
the spine that listens for the surge.

And if flesh is bread and blood is wine
the chalky moon of life shall wane,
its negligence now understood.

Now, in the slow hours of inertia,
I welcome the bacteria
bulling heartlessly through my blood.