Ice pouring out of my
ears and mouth,
the clock tower
watched and
said nothing.
And in the second
before midnight,
I coughed,
you replied with a sigh,
one of those
intakes of breath
that dies halfway
up the throat,
and then is reborn
on the tongue
to explode outward.

I wanted to kiss you,
howl into your mouth
unspoken scars
and words,
burn through
each others skin.
But the hangman
talked with his
eyes wide and awake.
What is the fucking point?
To suffer,
to crash,
mmm though in the molten mess,
blood pumped fiercely and
I sing in deep drenching tones,
to no one in particular.
My lungs heave,
passion felt
to live madly,
in complete wildness
mixed with bizarre appetites that
drown out
the beats of the reaper. 


And in the west,
we met,
and the sun came down
around our ankles.
We spoke in
moans and hisses,
licking in the moonlight,
dancing together
in a minor key
while the rain fell, and
we lassoed droplets
from the air
with our tongues,

I could see
even through the
fog stained window,
that I would have to
write myself
up from under
the ground,
move magic and
the earthen beats
aside with my teeth,
if need be,
stare through you
to the moon and back.
There was no outside
rapture coming
to aid,
so I sat and
held tight my hands
to my throbbing skull
and sank into
the erogenous zones.
Oh love,
I almost remember.

Dancing Doll

As the homes
of our mothers
breathed in and out,
the hearses
pulled up
to the driveway,
droning their dirges,
and we drank
the last bottle of
red wine,
sad smiles and
spilling a few drops
from our heavy mouths,
stains on the white carpet
which reminded us of blood
and you laughed at the thought,
quickly changing the subject.

I was your dancing doll,
my silhouette
etched into the wallpaper,
cum and cacophony,
your breath on my breast,
paint seeping into my pores
and stayed there,
for the night.

My mind loosing itself
amidst the grave digging.
I screeched out into the ethers
for help,
but found only
a moth to choke on
and a pair of scissors
to cut my hair with.