QUARANTINE
i want to make a clean slice
the length of your trunk,
and i'll pull back the skin
and wash you clean of the infestation
that is eating you raw.
and i want to feel your sickness,
texturizing
the smooth
the ridge
the curve
the moisture
the filth.
i want to know you -
such a host,
so giving to the parasitic manifestation
you nourish.
you taste of salt and
purified disgust,
but i relate to the addiction
because i love this filth -
to taste, to touch,
and to remove it for my own,
but no worries;
when my rummage is finished,
i'll fold your pale skin
back over your sunken chest.
the black seams, only a
justified addition,
marking this
condemned territory.

THIRSTY
i am tasting the lake of you,
salty and dirty
and filled with all the foreign particles
that i used to know.
the hard twigs, splintering my lips -
just like your collarbone at night,
biting your skin
until my passion dwelled
inside you -
but it didn't end there,
and it doesn't still.
i miss licking words on your chest,
smearing the black ink
all over your pale, inviting body.
and as i taste this lonely ocean,
savoring the stagnant flavor in my mouth,
i ache for the taste of your fingers,
salty from a hard night's labor.
and the freshness that comes
reminds me of your rainy hair
whipping across my face.
and the ill bacteria brings me back to the
horrible infestation
living in me,
that is you.