captive audience listening
to the hornets pouring out of me
i was running fingers
listlessly down your face
and dreaming of acid rain
—a picture in my head
that refused to die
ever mindful
of the bedroom door
hinging on your aches
and unborn eyes
the reanimated heart
chimed
with the twisted shape
of what awaits us all
a rising overture
from behind the veil
warm, wet handed
in a bath of blood