human jewelry.

I won't be the one
to say when this time.
You don't wanna be my baby,
or so you say,
as you hang off me:
my human jewelry.

tragic magic.

your proximity
such gravity
tragic magic
betrays me

the crooked boy.

the crooked boy
made of fire
scorches everything he touches
blissfully unaware

andro.

Levels of androgyny
beyond me
your gender fuckery
oh baby
making out to
Death From Above
slay me

rancid.

Inhaling your rotten poetry
it occurs to me,
you're the contagion consuming me.

The infection is spreading, breeding
more rancid memories,
and yet I offer myself to this disease.

Contaminate my existence,
devour me.

dragon.

Your beauty is deceiving,
but your words highlight
the rot within:
putrid breath,
words of death
masquerading as "love".

How did you get this way?
I have so many questions
but wouldn't dare
approach a dragon...

not tonight.

Flesh collides, and
your eager lips search for meaning
but no words escape my torrid cavity.
Your body swells with shameful desire
as I lick the salt from your skin,
and your breath begs
for more than I'm willing to give.

Not tonight.

counterpunch.

I'll break your bones
if you ask nicely,
even weather your unbearable storm.
You've been waiting around,
again,
and I'll eat a few more punches
before I call it a night.
One of these days
I'll learn your rhythm,
and perfect my counter.

fetishized anger.

Your fetishized anger
feeds on the remains
of my best intentions;

the involuntary fuel
to your flames.

devious.

I'm feeling devious
I know you know
coaxing it out of me

the wrong kind.

The fire in your eyes
set on me
mixes with your lava words,
and yeah,
you're melting my insides.

I think I'm terrified,
been messing with the wrong kind.

We couldn't be more different if we tried,
and I won't anyway,
no, not this time.

disclosure.

A weighty sentiment
bursting with honesty:

disclosure -

a rupture in frequency/
freedom from uncertainty.

We're averting natural disaster tonight,
no shifty eyes.

a mellow reprieve.

To the setting sun
the night is young.
Fresh from the light and
birthed from the bright,
the moon offers a mellow reprieve.