I besmirch your immaculate parchment
The gossamer cloak that hides
All that is preposterous and prohibited
Within your insouciant grin.
There are secrets
I do not wish to tell
For the pleasure is in captivity,
In the specter and the elevation
Of divinity that enigma imposes.
Your tears are the ejaculate
Of an oppositional cosmology.
I would pour vinegar in your wounds
Rather than watch you spoil.
A stray hair admonished with a sweep,
A lip ripened in a coffin of teeth.
From your promiscuous veins.
I’ll wake in the abdication of dreams
A thief with counterfeit claims
Unable to distinguish the numbers
On the clock in the ruin of twilight.
Where is my alveolus?
My glowing white core?
It is not me but the world
That is upside down.