deserted land pantoum

Which face would I find
if I blew as God might?
Forfeit centuries of gravelkind
foramina become Semite?

If I blew as God might,
attar trust with a skirling shamal,
foramina become Semite,
all sense dunged in the Ar Ramal.

Attar: trust. With a skirling shamal
I lift skirts. Piss.
All scents dunged in the Ar Ramal,
my bloods break dermis.

I lift skirts. Piss
lofty venous fluids.
My bloods break dermis.
You crave the Id’s

lofty venous fluids.
Thus I dry you to Death.
You crave the Id’s
ossified breath.

Thus I dry you, too. Death
with your penis-head moth-mouth, screams
ossified breath.
Come, fuck trek my dreams.

With your penis-head moth-mouth, screams
shatter.
Come, fuck trek my dreams.
Wet our skeletal resolve to scatter.

Shatter
these my cheeks’ fake blushes.
Wet our skeletal resolve to scatter
the shibboleth’s ashes.

These my cheeks fake. Blushes
swell-swoon to labia.
The shibboleth’s ashes
shush, hidden within revelatory glossolalia.

Swell. Swoon too. Labia
forfeit centuries of gravelkind.
Shush! Hidden within revelatory glossolalia,
which face would I find?