Purely of Joy

Burn me;
put your hands on my skin
and blacken me.
Sear the imperfection out of me
until you’ve glassed me,
left me as bone and char
and shining surface to be admired,
to be feared,
to be lusted after.
Burn me alive;
I’m begging you for it.
Do it, and know my screams
are purely of joy.