a shadow has passed me again
your pupils in the walls gaze at my
repulsion, reverbing in the pit
of the oil-slicked sunset in your throat
 
unlike the nectarless buds of reveries or margarine,
my mouth was the perfect watering hole turned
to amaranth seas wondering silently for winter
 
painting a still life with foie gras as myself,
the dead oleanders growing at my feet are tended by
your imaginary god
 
in a neon impasse of things we wouldn’t say,
our vivisection was born from a snake with twelve eyes,
all blind
 
in our gallery is a heart matted in licorice
and the snake,
circling,
seeing red