swerve and interchange; maim
and untether these thoughts you used to share
the gall and stomach-pull,
nauseous yet belly-full

the throbbing darkness becomes her.
unctuous foreplay,
presumptive in its perceived necessity
a scene set to enrapture you, to chain you to a certain crescendo
yet you’ll masturbate by mirroring her words.
what could be more winsome than an evening walk with an ego?

you hear the tap-tap-tap of the candled procession
it tugs at the weaker parts of you
a pious adherence to ritual
commune and communion
yet she’ll never listen, never hear those words come from you

it doesn’t matter.
virtue never suited you.
you, forever lacking its language and its vigor

and just as subway vermin scurry from the coming light,
your morning prayers always seem to quickly scatter and hide

at least you tried

(new york, new york)