"I am alive,"
says the
tiny
rapid poem
of your wrists;

fair and not fair alike–
both soft
and hard with
beating
inconstantly
heart,

      (you will i will)

which won't but briefly
kiss perhaps
**** perhaps

saying lewd thing of
mouth through ear
to air;

art which
must have both
light and darkness–paired,

one moment of life
exquisite pleasure
droned and drugged-up
then, it's on with
sustaining their future....

once her she-spider
majesty is widowed
many, many times over,
a cyclical dance in which
you're out of the picture*




_ _ __✒
●○
°

inkblot butterflies
frolic and chase each other
therapist's couch melts*




_ _ __✒
●○
°

you broke me in the most delicate way,
that even pain felt beautiful.