Breathless, I am. Breathless, She.
The lust. The rage. The want to need.
To lie. To lie. To lay. Inside.
The violin’s rage, my heart strings cry;
they rub and moan and fuck and grin.
She breathes. She cries. She peaks. She sins.
She tells me, she is on the brink.
She stammers, she lows, we quake – we sink.
The ash, it rises, from mortal rest.
The dust, it settles, upon her breast.
One last dance, I know there’ll be.
Will I sway, or will she bleed?
If darkness swayed, would light provide,
the ballast, the song, the night’s horizon.
If stars were still within its breath,
would orbs be statued in black tide’s breach.