Former teal eyed creature infused in smoke and tequila, you were not yet dictated by the foam of Cerberus's mania, not a nailed muse to my hip, or punctured within my organs, bleeding on you my veneration; merely a buck for which a ****** goddess revered remotely the veins which would slither themselves on her countenance, should the stag perpetuate it as a bush to succumb on.

Edible, malleable texture extended on my derma, a foliage of peeled organs, burnt insides in dried sebum, a sorceress wilted by her nocturnal, pelvic hair, dense to the seamstressing of the Earthly immortal, a claimed follower, or patriarchy itself, a fervent javelin of oak, on which crawls in wet approvals the tangled naturalness plucked not consensually.

Undersold circular vow, encrypted against ingrown shards - the seedless mother Neith from which gore split her superiority to low frequencies devouring their black spinel printed offspring, denied not her abnegation in self-preserving - thy wing span crowded inside my *****, a cross bathed in salt and dried seaweed, siren to my purity.

Energetic waste of eroded threads on which a third party - an acrobat weighed by its light, translucent derma, the inward unpeeled organs, self-control to not cling to its ascension - blinded her nucleus, the core concept of having should be an abortion, irreversible eerie and stream of numbness, emptiness, withdrawal discoloured my roots, staining the texture in co-dependency - tungsten immortality of my soul pledged to merge with hers, a melange of decayed Achilles.

The softness malleable chord of your voice, lyra's entrapment of a disfigured nymph, whose skin loosens on mental charades.

Your venusian string, marble powder dry to its feather-sculpted end, frail to stain my skin with its purity - delusional craving of merged entities; muse infused with surface adoration, delayed monthly my sweltering escapism.

Strawberry jam leaking its achenes on tastebuds swollen by the scarcity of interdependence; natural redness oscillating with the intention to bite my tongue.

A special note to a former homeboy (happy birthday)

Your hoodie's borrowed my skin, texture diffused in fragrance of my fleeting tendencies, wingspan of my overwhelm drew extrinsic lines, a vermillion signature of insecurity.