If you were a corpse accepting cremation
I would be the flame
that lavishly licked your flesh,
the heat, heaped for your hair on a pyre
the last peril your boney body submits to,
making the air all around stink of you.
Forget the fact that you corrupt my mind,
it’ll only work out if your thoughts stink of me.
If for one second during
your self worshipping, wistful stares
into a mirror that drips a musty condensation
that lingered from your skinny, ****
torso after your morning shower, you
stand there smile *******
yourself with puckered lips and
un-dilated pupils, flirting with
camera phone pixels you think to yourself;
* Should I post me on myspace?
Should I send a text message pic to myself?
Should I forward it to that guy that I met
to make him think that I’m burning for him?*
If for that second I could be but that spark,
an after thought flare that gets you to want
more than what it is that you got,
where would you go?
With whom would you make yourself over?
I’m waiting for the morning your ashes
wake next to me; smoldered and spread out over my
mattress and under my breath, and
your eye lashes charred with clunky mascara
crumble as you replay in your silly head
the late mass I celebrated last night
when I exhumed and inhaled
that same condensation;
Little taste droplets of you then exhaled
from me to your golden tin flesh
that burned you to ******
Because of my tempered tongue you
cravingly bathed with,
because of your hair I feverishly wrapped
round my fists as
my head altered and smoothed out from whiskey
bounced waves of frivolous
thrusts pulls releases,
pushes twitches friction
in perfect timed fashion
between your radio
antenna thin legs
and your rib meat torso
you forced my lips unto.
That will be the night
you will come.
Yeah, that’s right
SEE YOU MMM-hmmm,
I will see you melt on that night.
And it will be your cremation.