A Scab
you were never in love
with me except for that feeling
that burst through your cock and crowed for
me at dawns break and alarmed all but
a saint and allowed room for fashion
at a reasonable rate
coupled with all of your expression and crippling indecision
the catacombs of your whys fevering the attempts
to boiling points and highs cooling them with
distance and neglected penmanship
weak correspondence as decayed as starvation
amidst the famine
burning deep inside my loins
growth further inside my womb
desire deeper than my mind
and all tormented by your words or lack there of
your worthy less than soul to speak any kinder
than capable of sewn
to my death I take with thee the promise
of a note left untold.
|