a wicked, unrighteous child's mind
lies closer to the truth
than a noble graybeard's ever will &
here is that only, hideous verity:
death has the body of a boy.
an ocherous-haired boy, sylphlike,
unearthly, peerless and
other word to forbear from writing 'beautiful'.

guiltless people do not know that.

'irradiating one, let me hold you', he says,
and i let him. i can recall swearing,
palms pressed together and liquid lungs
settled at the bottom of a bathroom sink,
never to allow to be eaten again
because that is what holding someone is for;
(guiltless people do not know that.)

be that as it may,
i let him.
forgiveness was never
suited for me, anyway.

there can be no fallacy;
no fraud can remain a fraud
once they are birdlimed
by a fire-stricken embrace.
a mindless prey is what they become.
a devourer is what he always was.

guiltless people do not know that.

my eyelids will not yet sink over my pupils,
not until his hidden claws,
ribboning and shredding their way
out of his unsoiled skin, turn
my neck into bloodbath,
my heart into maelstrom.

what a blessed, glory-driven way to meet death.