Pang from Pang

Abolish the body! Flowerwise, falling
only to save the shame of being seen
to shudder, yes, she would far rather
see you lovely than any army, yes but
seeing you “lovely” is less likely by far
than an image of you, flayed, unsure,
even in this distinctly inglorious battlefield—
“slain”— you still can’t keep your
bloody fingers still. You’re not like a
flower at all, you’re embarrassing, and we
are all sick of the sight of you. Who can I
taste on your lips like liquor? Lotus and
Lethe on my lips like dew.