an ode

she was liquid cyanide

    waiting
in a false tooth
    to be cracked
    open
to pour over tongue
    and spread
through demon-wise
    veins
extending blissfully into rigid fingers
 
a verdant woman – flushed
    with occasional terror
but maintaining her cadence 
across years and years
 
she tastes of velvet and
    runs her hand over
my ear – which i did not like
    but drew her velveteen closer
and drank her breathes in gulps
 
the sun will come to you eventually
and warm you in dapples
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