Bitter

maybe it’s the dark, acidic coffee I refuse to take any other way or the wind lashing at my exposed neck this autumnal morning it could be the disgusting cigarettes I smoke too much or the anxiety that shakes me I feel it coming like knots in my throat like frozen dark chocolate and there’s nothing…

Read More

La Petite Mort

my lover is arcane for, he only speaks in tongues he breathes cold, cadaverous air to fill my empty lungs Latin chants over freshly turned earth he comes creeping in the night when not another soul is heard beneath a new moon sky and in the howling wind he quietly stalks aching to nourish his…

Read More