If I were to press the palms of hands together, as if in prayer, and insert myself into you until elbow-deep, you might cry out in joy.
The lubrication of my holy ghost with the menstrual blood of the lamb.
I squint and you look almost like my mother smiling and you welcome me home again.
There is a body in a box. The body is me and the box is you and a third person is burying us. We are both alive.
I stick my dick through the holes in your hands and ask you to consider my apology.