A spell of seconds,
sweet-sweet sweat,
the taste of skin, the smell of tongue,
his gaze consumed
- intent and will – his eyes,
a deep dark wet become
he starts out sweet then marks
his kill.
I may be dinner or his pet...
but either way we get our fill, though death,
may be our final thrill.
I know not,
what fuels this visceral silent rage--
what built this impermeable cage,
what kindles unspoken desire--
our inexplicable Fire smolders my will
to resist, and gives me
chills.
Our lyrics strike
odd harmony,
disjointed on a scale of harshly-soothing notes,
a melody of alligator daffodils and shredded pantyhose,
tangled sheets on broken glass,
arrhythmic rugburns,
scented sunshine and
a hint of ash.
We refrain--
in syncopated pulsing--
from Promises never made but
understood
Muting logic tossed
aside amidst the rush and throe of water-
falls,
anointing tall, moist, softly-
sharpened
blades of grass.
