i want my poems to have teeth. i want my words to cut, to maim, to bleed. with verses, i will raze empires. with stanzas, i will turn thrones to dust. with nothing but a bit of silver on my tongue, i will take the life of god.
i’ll ply that same ***** like honey, taste the sweet nothings dripping between knocking knees. quake and quiver for me, let me slip, furtive as nightshade to sate your curiosity.
feel the weight of veracity in these fingers patiently transcribing forgotten melodies, compressing ivory keys to sing of all that was lost and what was gained from the process.