The  crippling noir
of that vaguely African horizon
devours the Argon flare of the
city's last words before the fugue.

That dimly lit control panel faded
into a broccoli tipped oasis
as I sauntered down the incline.
Viscous, swamp water murk
seems to fill my lungs as I
descend into Salem's lot.
Lighting is
Everything.

*******

My bowels kiss my muscle wall,
churning,
as her eyes mold into an uninterested
satin color;
like a drop of milk in a kettle black
cup of coffee.

Admiring a vampire for its
reluctant seduction.
He would drain it before
it lifted a curly clawed finger.
I bet he feeds off blister pus
and verses from a half smoked
Cuban.