My lips stick to her neck like honey.
As I try to pry the pain from those lips,
Her skin melts into my fingertips.
Pores exchange their whispers.
The ******* buzz of electric
Synapsis soon surges through flesh,
Contextualizing the vitality of breath.  
I suffocate as my soul drips like molasses
Down the small of her back.
The body is the mind—
You try to help it, but the perfume
Of her heat hypnotizes you.
Just let it go, let the sugar consume you.
Her lips stick to mine in the morning.

It’s funny
On those days
Where my head pains
More than my heart,
It seems the universe
Grants seeds
Of new Hope.
On that beautiful,
Begrudging, persistent
Day, when the addiction
To the darkness—
Numbnity— returns,
You will be tested.
The threshold of
Pain in your mind,
The calcification
Of your teeth and bones,
And the softness of skin
Will be tested.  
And on that day,
You will have a
Sustantial conversation
With yourself,
Through someone else—
A lover silently
Snoring next to you,
A clerk at Family Dollar
With a gold tooth
Who laughs and says
“You like these, huh?”
As you purchase your
Fifth juice of the week,
A mirror image
You do not completely
Recognize,
God or the devil himself—
That will torment you,
Force you to ask
The difficult question
Upon the scale
Of evolution.
Those days,
Will plant seeds of hope.
Only if you listen

Baby I saw your
Moonshine eyes leave my side
Several times.
And when you reached out,
As if to say I'm sorry,
It began again.

You hurt the most -
Even Mysticism underlay
Every wishful brush of the shoulder,
Taste of your scent.
I became your muse.

I went through a thousand
Beautiful scenarios —
Of skin on skin,
Subcutaneous conversations:
Salts mixing,
Hyperplasia of hearts,
The rhythmic chant of breath —
In my dreams.