There is a place where dreamers go to die.
Poppies bleed out on the grass.
I see your shadow and I shiver.
She writes images in replicas of scribbles from my dreams.
As nectar is slipping from her breast,
I lay here hidden in her slow, warm hug to death.
I am her puppet to the strings.
Two curly-haired earth spirits conjoin at the lips
As their curls coil to the skies.
That was a song from a long time ago.
I knew other forces were at play.
I feel what I’ve sparked
With my appetite for seduction.
“They are searching for a missing man.”
I am the villain of this love story.
How is he still running through my veins?
His body reduced to bone
As I lay here alone.
Lost in lust, his shadow
touches me. I shudder.
Cover me in fire and brimstone.
