You wear her ring
I'll cut your palm
Draw your blood
Skin cells fusing with the dust

I trace the scar
On my left hand
A lifeline made
Slam the glass and cut it again

You turn away
To ashen Verde
And shriveling flowers
Come back with uninspired eyes for this tired pen

So I spit on your grace
That comes bearing shelter
And descend upwards
To putrid ducts where I can freely release my own sins

Then I ascend downwards
To appease wasted salt
And find you there with a gun
And bullets on a three-legged table set for two