Your shield falls, strange chimera, exposing your wants
as you balk your terror-whites, a Centurion roiling in the stables.
I want you to miss me: scream in a dream that falls
in the pitted dark. You against me in the same spot,
that carrion of the past, pock-marks of the beat.
Want you and me to shut the fuck up?
I could begin the fling of emotions, like plates meant for shatter.
This is yesterday, so by now anathema will be
wanting love and a whisper, enjoying the turn
of your skin inside out, revealing layers that will shelter my exposure.
Post a Comment