I twist the plastic baptizing
Your impending disaster.
Bread or wine people
Rarely change but given
Enough altitude any man,
Whatever his station, can fly.
–
I lick your alabaster wrists
The graphic pulse sublimating
To a chaos that I will never
Comprehend through force.
I could devour you but the hunger
Would overpower my senses.
You are not mine
But only mine will suffice.
mindlovemisery 