DEAR
Ah, my demented dear,
the spot where your
venom entered me
feels like it has
been struck by
a burning coal
of white phosphorus
our pain is our own ultimately
our pleasure too
but the force that created you
whether it is my channeling of it
or it has burrowed,
somehow
connived its way
into my system
is one with the spirit of all
that this fimds itself expressed as
every manufacture
it now does open itself to
our bodies shape-shifting
at points
together
in some kind of deeply odd
resonance rather
than harmony
no, not harmony
my dear, my demon, my
demented dear
poems 2 die for 