Your eyes are black holes,
Concave and parallel to your Convex slanders.
The sockets fill with ghosts as
You spin galaxies of rancor across my tongue
and your thoughts are brutes
that ferment in my soul
leaving a thick film of sour solicitation
And I will taste you for millenniums
In empty bus stations and forgotten highways
In my feculent sheets after they spoil
And you will always remind me
When I eject dry heaves at 3 a.m.,
Just what it means to be alone.
As Plaintive howls hang limp like busted ankles
Pretending to be flickering stars
Their loyalty is embarrassing
And I will weep in sentences
Just as broken as me.
In syllables just as hollow
As your wearied body in my arms
On your last birthday.
I should have never caught your tears that night.
They were meant to sewer through the spaces in my fingers
I could have let them linger on your brims like death
Your cheeks were always landing strips for missiles
I would rather be deaf,
than hear the sound of your diseased sobs.