She Wants It
DEATHhhhhhh: drawn out of my every pore – my being – defiant in nature, of life, defiant of herself. Her tongue flickers speaks [tastes]. She [smells] you immortal. Her. Breath. Less. Lungs.
wondering: “what now?”
Her tongue flickers… again. [TASTE], she craves it like sex. Like émigré, drawing foreign blood with her pencils – a [SIGHT] unseen, like air departing… forever.
And who’s to tell her ‘ no ‘ ?
ɹǝɥ ɟo ǝɯ spuıɯǝɹ ǝɟıן
But, who am I? tocr, tocr, tocr, to critique – WHO AM I to gaze?
We paint each other backwards. Her, fresh, lilacs light up
up the room. With fingertip embraces and Sistine eyes
devouring the very SOUL which resides within my
bleed. blood. I bleed for her safety (amusement)
with both hands trembling, staring to the sky
she wants to [FEEL] it, to [HEAR] it, to…
contain it within her whimsy. a dream
and me. standing here. alone. here
barren desolate. amalgam
THIS was my vision of her, of us – death, like a horseless carriage barreling down the turnpike of disaster.
ME – reaching for the ropes, but none sufficed to steer this bird… down down down down
HER – remembering me this way.
Lips sealed together, concealing secrets within one, eternal kiss. And
Life. An exceptionally foreboding domicile.
Wrought with THE ABSENCE OF silence.
Peering Whispering ever-Preening