9.1.14

ode,

white hot to the touch, resentment’s song leaves the
coldest palette to sample from. and what delights to
the hearts conditioned response, memories bitter
the tongue.

i take a last breath
and pray my wounds will be tended to, kindly
wrapped in bandages from judgement’s scold.

but what was love to me if not a series in parts of venom. silk to skin on ice patches to your bedroom.
and where boredom took you to scenery - you played to my body’s precision.

revenge, with its finger of a doctor’s curiosity, how sly it inserts to my pleasure. what can i destroy for tomorrow’s ripeness. to take your shade of elation.

it should be mine!

my love should have, fed, could have, fed, should have -

left you on coals. in my eyes. for my eyes.

how long does the encore fulfill? of arousing temperament that fuels weeks, and so i stay weak. how long does truth take to heal. a relinquishing of power, i sleep on nails to which you left in

perfect symmetry.