Beat down,
Under the heat of day,
Burnt with longing,
Irrational hunger,
A lust for pain,
That only that which I cannot have,
Can put to rest

I'm slowly dying,
In a mangled heap,
Some bloodshot dilution,
Of my former self,
Dependant on words,
Brittle and uncertain,
That hold all,
I cannot ask of you,
So I resign to this;
I'm slowly dying,
I hope it matters

Turning pages,
Impatient,
Say something

From the distance,
He finds me,
With those animal eyes,
Blue and orange and white,
Twisted and sharp,
Concluding with his pupils,
Deep and dark and wide,
Dragging me down,
Like the undertow,
I'm paralyzed,
By those animal eyes

My name across his chest,
In whiter-than-flesh ink,
That pulled his skin,
Like gravity,
Into each letter,
Blistered on one end,
With sunburn,
Forged sharp with his smile,
Brown eyes downcast,
The fleshy tattoo scars

Soft like Death,
Tasting my skin,
Scarce with droplets,
Of bitterness,
And sorrow,

Your lips warm,
Like velvet blood,
Quietly concealing,
Quintessence,
And poison,

Hands, winter chill,
Old, naive fingers,
Murderous in theory,
In practice,
Full of stealth,

For lips, and hands,
And fabled tongues,
Soft like Death,
Tasting my skin