These are our bloodied blossoms.
urge the tempest onward,
onward toward the clarity
hiding in the eye of solitude.
And us with our antennae twisted up…
Despite my clenched fists,
I come in peace, and I bring
mad tidings of oversexed impulsivity.
This pulsing, sweaty mess of flesh
before you was once a man, that is,
until I got through with him.
Your beacons don’t stand a chance
in this darkness. This soupy swamp
we nurture will be the mouth
that devours you.