My darling,
teases my friends
with her silhouette
until my hands are frozen
pressed against her neck.

Her kiss is the waning silence
of a quiet mind,
sundering self
in the undertow of metaxis:
lust and hate.

She teases my friends,
only hours later
they soon forget;
ephemeral.

Her tongue
is the reaper
of my sentience,
floundering in a state
of detachment.

I have binged on what
my obsessions have borne,
an escape from banality
my autonomy abandoned
to Misery, my mistress.

My darling,
teases my friends
with her silhouette,
until my hands are frozen
pressed against her neck.