permutations of the grid
territories of the breath
convince me there is something left
at best
to quench the rest of this.
propriety
a sense of bliss
as this world is fluttering
unrelenting
so
achingly
slow
and i'm left to cower in the corner
the taste of you still on my lips
and the transgressions that mar the edifice
are but cute and mortal.
cover my eyes and tempt me
whisper what i don't expect.
for i know this incarnation is old
and has been done before
you don't even know
that you asked me please
still wrecks me
and the rest of it
is irrelevent.

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