Essence in its natural form
Is a thick syrup in a glass jar,
But when it hits the air
The concentrated being sizzles
Into a mist
Taunting nearby objects,
And eventually sliding coolly
Through electrified skin.
That is, essence is a reduction,
And we feel its reflection, its gaze.

Summing you up
Is catching that mist with a butterfly net,
But some of your elements so fill your persona
That they are all too eager to embrace
Their destinations,
Boldly solidifying into tangible expressions
Of passion and drive
On my skin,
Where my own platform of energy
Prepares to retaliate.

Broken cherry lips
Bitten beyond recognition and swollen with inhibitions foregone
In favor of simpler incisions,
Cuts on the egos of cherry picker demons,
Puckering with bloodlust, suctioning drugs from
Her mouth and pulling out things from between her front teeth,
Strings of slippery doubt (but throw that out,
‘Cause) Here we cherish the cowardice
On the main screen, and rather receive the attention instead,
Unadulterated affection of the head, the best parts filtered and the rest
In the ***** pink cave,
Left to be swallowed following
Any hint of recognition
Sinking so they can fester faster
In her stomach grave, made of acid.