lightning curls
it’s forked tongue
around grayclouds
of misfortune’s sigh
a death by small cuts;

as i
casually spit
into the open sore of memory
with callused lobes
scarred by coathanger whimsy;

sing to me
of sweetness
while bile
clogs the throat
of joy;

a lovesong
driven
like a nail
into the soft belly
of desire.