spur

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Even alone I am with you, a glassy reflection of your blackened eyes. How full, how heavy, how earthly is the breath we share when we share nothing at all.

I want so badly to show you my hand, the spur of a boot dug deep into belly flesh; the bitter drip of a metal bit; a silver bullet; a loaded gun; summer heat so heavy with musk. This is how it always ends: eyes rolled back and a mouth full of blood.

May you always feel my lips where you’re reddest.

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If the other passengers on this train can read my thoughts, they must be entertained. Hello, commuter. How’s the view?

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I will lay down a cornerstone in London, and another in the French countryside, or perhaps a Greek isle.

I want to sink my teeth into something soft.

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