Consume eternally what I have always wanted.
Rendering it a desiccated pile.
Unrecognizable from what it was.
Or what it wanted to be.
I can't walk in
flowered printed heels
I've watched you study yourself in
steady neck leading down to
gentle shoulders and halcyon hands
sour ideas filling my brain I'm
imagining my hands
sweetening your concerned
bronze-brown strands of curly hair
on dark grey seats
I sense dancing trees behind me
and savor the beautiful bitterness
of abyssal secrets
on my saccharine tongue
your collar bones are silken
and veiled with Taurus-led
mine are always veiled with
sporadically veiled with
this was nice to write
— The End —