the crooked spine of Satan.

The red still shows
clinging to bones.
Together we rest on
the crooked spine of Satan.

spores.

Out of every cavity
pores speak freely
seeping your leaking meaning
into the world,
emanating spores so divine
I could die once or twice.

fixation.

This fixation,
what a nice way to put it.
You're a world ruiner
with me in your sights.

boundaries.

An exercise in boundaries,
finding the lines between us
are more than just for show.
And it would be so easy
to lose myself in you,
but I’m drawing lines tonight -
where does my heart reside?
Your guess is as good as mine.

molten stare.

Trying to catch my eye, you won’t say a word,
letting your actions speak.
You’re burning holes in my skull,
and I’m acutely aware of your molten stare.