I should come in a locked incubus,
slammed with a appropriate warning label,
past figments of tender kisses and crazed lunatics
.

come here I point at you with my dramatic finger
you.come/ Eye contact becomes a form of survival.
Technique to **** the idle, melt your deepest fire.
Now I want you to listen to me carefully you much older.
you no more wiser than I/soul.
expand those ears that I'm sure have been deafened due
to all the screams that echo through them. The ghosts of
the ebony past. Drastic lights and mad art.
Thrusted naked upon my wall. You have been brought down.

I would like to give the benefit. But for the sake of this poem.
I will not. I'll taper with the thought of it. The slight burn that
disappeared before I noticed it was there. For the sake of a pretty
little write at the end of my night. by tomorrow morning I will not care.

listen to me intently

you who loved Esmeralda in Spain, Gypsy of dark colors
drenched in things I know nothing of. Curiosity that hummed
like a tempest. Challenging me like she always does. Has died out
in front of me as she always seems to do. prancing around at the right
moments bringing me back to my stone alter
I have ran out of words, I cant speak for things I did not receive.

listen to me closely
I wait for no none.