Desperate for your mind to be intertwined with mine,

I writhe and thrash into your seductions.

By being intimate we are lying:

pretending to have reached a resolution

-when really all I can feel is acute stinging

of my body and emotions.

Without engaging your feelings,

all I feel is friction;

down: your sciroccian winds are rasping

my spirit and global expectations.

A...

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Out of focus there is nothing.

But he needles his way in.

And his warmth spreads,

and his essence flows and ebbs

in my mind and in my smile and in my bed.

He’s the cerebrospinal fluid

that floods my skull,

and all my cracks until I’m full.

Finally: a flash of his face and flesh;

vivid, quick, and then death.

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