Your eyes are black holes, Concave and parallel to your Convex slanders. The sockets fill with ghosts as You spin galaxies of rancor across my tongue and your thoughts are brutes that ferment in my soul leaving a thick film of sour solicitation And I will taste you for millenniums In empty bus stations and forgotten highways In my feculent sheets after they spoil And you will always remind me When I eject dry heaves at 3 a.m., Just what it means to be alone. As Plaintive howls hang limp like busted ankles Pretending to be flickering stars Their loyalty is embarrassing And I will weep in sentences Just as broken as me. In syllables just as hollow As your wearied body in my arms On your last birthday. I should have never caught your tears that night. They were meant to sewer through the spaces in my fingers I could have let them linger on your brims like death Your cheeks were always landing strips for missiles I would rather be deaf, than hear the sound of your diseased sobs.