I bet your lips taste like ashes.
Cyanide flavored poison-
sweet like candy floss but
Deadly; burning from the inside,
Passionately.
Hands hot- the back burner of
your sister in law’s cast iron stove.
The flame of desire ravaging
your skin in your past lover’s
Sin.
Press flesh too hard; the best way-
It leaves violet marks of recycled love.
And I’d dream of a future,
while you thought out tonight’s dance.
And I’d listen to the rain
hit each brick wall,
while you turned out the light
and felt nothing at all.