hey, lover.

cry in me. milk spilled, spoiled
rotten lover.
had swept the
moon right
onto the palm, but she wiped you clean
of light.
your mouth left
sick, heart splice with
love temperature. bed ridden cold. my
animal, how do you
like her now.

wilted tulips, as you'd like my lips -
frosted on the glass, on the tips
of persuasion.
how do you take your plea?
with a force
served on linen;
kerosene will do the trick?
or should we douse your bed
with my flora scent.

enough to leave
volumes of war, a voice
for the next decade
in your path.
in your mouth, remember my
taste. echo in the rear-view of regrets,
but, too much of a
wicked lover
i am -
to exercise such a wrath.

not an ounce of life
nor death can harness
back what the heart
once felt.
to an ego
as great as the sun -
only complete disdain
will harm.

Saturn will cleanse
the tongue.