squeal like a pig

his eyes are like home.
his tongue, stark discipline.
and i'm lost on command,
thirsty for blood
and ownership
like a tattered religion.

with squealing organs;
pigs.tires.wind.
and sacrifices
tearing up these wrists,
all i've got is this ache
for a brand new womb.

a haiku

The wordy affair:
a sort of romance that leads
to old wounds and booze.