d n a

grabbed on to your dress, mother I attach to
the rotten in every sharp angle.
roots in soil I dampen, cheapen your
motherhood. no trophies of mine adore your
palms. an exquisite longing –
to be unplugged from out under
this breath, of constraints you present as
love.

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.

scorpio sting

frame me, oh, to where sadism -
its figurine breaths me, and ruins be recipes
of perfection risen to

what smells like (at first glance) lust,
pulls closer to moisten vengeance of mine.
and you,
have white sheets that have yet to stain.
not made of small. nor for your harvest -
fetch your chipper tongue to last
in me until i finish
past the bed,
onto the floor.

in midnight burning
glory
this gloating body curves
coyly.
but i -
unlike those before, can eat your half attempt
at life
to bits.