I wish to be held
in the fluttering midst of your lashes.
To dream and lie
in soft gardens of green and dismissal.
I wish to be sunk
deep through the enclosing of your gashes.
A stream drank dry,
with decayed skeletons of sweet thistle.

I dare not divulge
How I loathe,
How I want.
I dare not indulge
In my breath,
Nor my heart.

I wish to be drunk!
How the merlot might rain onto my earth!
To fit and cry!
The tortured soil in pleasure and respite.
Oh, I am compelled,
To curse all monickers shared unto worth!
Now dreams must die!
Drowned amongst wretched ripples of moonlight!

I will not become
Who I loathe,
Who I want.
I will abstain from
My own breath,
My own heart.