Frozen Door (2nd draft)

Among the asylum
of thrusting priests
I am nymph skinned
bleeding freckles
on the silent tiled floor
You plead martyrdom

as I chew the door handle.

I lose you on 'A Szerelem Sziget'
in light dust lacing
but I am a sailor heaving
through indigo oils
through labourers folded faces

I press a fingernail
through waxen fruit
drain the rivers to sand spines
hear your neck crunch
on Salome's pillow