Your eyes were hotels
Keeping me safe at night
At the expense of almost fastened hooks
and marrow in the folds
Something like a Transaction,
A Cartridge for a Sore
Each one of your blinks,
wafting plights through my pipe dreams
And Your lips; counterfeit salvation
Pretty presentations but lacking in procedure
Chewing on contentions before I even spoke
And Just Clear beyond the ***** of your truth
Tympanum ****** manufacture phantom lies
Determined to Scoff my psyche in a sitcom
Festering tongue shoving splinters of the former into my nail beds
Where nuzzles are necrosis and
Cloying sighs mutate into Apollyon
A mouth of ivory tacks and culpable rims
*****; Eager to siphon drums of poise to empty
And lick them clean to a drought
Coasting on exhaust
You depart from me;
Constricted tiny vessel and a plaque stuffed thought
A Rusted, Sorry Cask, flooded with idle junctures