We are the words of love.
I glowered with the colour of cindersagainst your enigmatic likeness;the far more…
At four degrees,submerged cups are the warmestparts of the home.
Soap removes the tracesof another good hour;dissolves the residue of sweetness.
I.I sometimes needa lasting latte, a catch-me-if-you-can ristretto;
Hey baby,I was born in the breathbefore the microphone whine;made with bruised knuckles,bathed with a mouthful of wine.
Thread snapping, chi uncoiling…Wicked fever rising like a husky moanfrom the silkiness of your…
It was a market day morningand we had already beenjilted and jostled…I, exchanging suffering for couverturewhile you traded cherry blossomsfor black pearls.
I.I played Pink tonightGeldof, sans halo;skinned and deleterious for an audience of two.
This is not my rescue.
No falling catch,no latch on a window ledge.Nothing between my lifeand the fading moon.
Knee deep in divine intervention;crisscrossed ankles with tattered lace.I profess to mortal sin ascension -greedy goddess above me,sweat, a dusky dewon my upturned face.
You must think me the devil;but we are twin — two silent succubi.You are the one that makes me kneel,but only knee-to-knee, thighs…