Girl, your silver-tipped prose  was going to haemorrhage me   word circus turned me to clown    In octagon of mirrors in the gallery cafe  where lipstick palimpsest on coffee cups  colour rouge all the shades of desire,  I viewed her nipples from eight different angles  through the ‘God?’ emblazoned on her thin t-shirt,   reflected to crack’d promises  who dared walk on broken ice?    China...

Not good with surprisesYet here you areYou approached timidly at firstThen the nervousness showedWhat was more  endearingyour approach or the executionI was not looking in your directionYou made my head turnYou made my mind stay on younew questions and...

in your dark days I want to be the lightsmiling sunshine and parting the shadowsit is in me to need but I long to give to youcherished desire you are beautifulpassion's rebellion to serve youon my knees to please...

Found her on the slab, still singing—voice box humming through formaldehyde,her tongue, a pink oyster of restless fellatiotapping code the way ii tasted,sweet caviar as the scalpel crossed—"Cut me loose," sweet scent homicide.