seven pixie sticks for breakfast in bed when I
awake to the lingering stench of my own gore juice
having been baked through the night by the heat of his back.
and remove the covers to bare the suction mark between my breasts;
Behold, this arrow to my face
I yawn a blue tinted tongue, breaking the pasted saliva between my lips
offer a kiss, holding my breath as it is brief and self-conciously a simple touch
as incessently now
I tug at the tearing lace bordered between my thighs while
watching the chosen man of my bed by way of a television's reflection
dress himself in the doorway
white skin, white hands and back
bearing breakouts, bloody red
bearing one ring, stone of bloody red
bearing scratches, impressions of the blood's red
I have broken blood, dead and flowing from me, other
vessels burst and pulled against the surface
on my chest mainly.
There, to the left of my chest I place a hand, as was once an infants comfort
placed above the subtle veins of me, is a visual remnant of love
in the guise of a black lipped kiss still caught amidst bodily oils
as also grows the television black again, enter a world that smells like my sheets
his image still in my eyes becomes wildly animated towards me through a fog
though now he's truly gone.