ive been spinning mysteries and fiction in my mind
from a spool of fabric weaved from an abundance of time
again i cook the cabbage,
dreadully see magic-
its clear that while i had it, its become no longer mine
~sigh~
stuck in static, weekdays bacchic, simply
smell the acid a second before you pass it
these back rooms start to blend
but eyes adjust
you start to see her in the dark
she has seen you, undeniably
she is the temptress with cherry lips,
a heart harder than bitten cherry pits
remember how hard she bit your lip?
remember the scar you flirt with?
your tongue knows that groove well
you think of her
you do not want to
so you think of her
the dreams, not really dreams,
poor attempts to sedate seduction
you give your nights to Hypnos,
still
your mind sleeps with those
cherry lips, from the moment
they loved you
the mark of sin
of life