that you may taste
words
made of my deepest desires.
Words
made of you.
Their sticky sweetness pooling on the floor
in
one last aesthetic cry for your attention
Bathe yourself
in the warmth of my consciousness
Devour my essence
As it runs hot
down your arm
Licking my final verse
from your fingers
Such madness is
beauty
at it’s end
Cold passion remains
naught but a pool of words
that no longer speak.
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