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wasted again
stumbling along ragged streets
cold to the bone
not a single contact
context
or place to call home
streetwalkers whistle
milling that way
or this
underwater
the surface is terrifying
i hope never to breach it
though i can’t stay down here forever

venal

machinery machiavellian
a bar of soap on a nightstand
i have come to prepare myself for death
drenched in perfidious intent

you know
you’re really rather becoming
a demure ingénue, a chic pastiche
with charms labyrinthine

despite my furtive forbearance
i may have actually wanted you
but i knew
‘twas naught but a dead man’s demand

do not believe my halcyon visage
redolent of some buc0lic love
all i desire is a final fling
a dance; a pyrrhic dalliance

provocative warfare ensues
bodies lying taut, eliciting a feral scent
as the chamber moves
to raveling and unraveling flesh

at last, an explosion of color!
your glistening skin lies
like a harem of opulence
as my hands to the nightstand move