Burn all flags except the flesh,
the banner hung from bone.
Soul, burn the five stars down to ash.
Burn the crescent moon.
Kiss the tits, the low brown stars
cresting heaving hills.
Kiss the folded belly scar,
kiss the testicles.
Kiss, oh, kiss the crescent slit,
uncover the full moon,
till the body present-lit
burns and does not burn.