Take the blade and carve a star into her forehead. Place the petals of a flower one by one from her nipples to her vulva and chant the middle names of past lovers in ascending order based on their ability to recite the opening of Stephen King’s The Shining. Lay your head down before her and speak your truth so you may be allowed to journey back home and not be doomed to rot here on this damned globe along with everyone else. Grit your teeth. Open your mouth. Turn down the blinds and trace the words you’re afraid of speaking on the insides of her thighs. As the walls cave in, shake your head and let those infernal dreams suck you deeper. Let all shapes dissolve as the flesh of her belly bubbles beneath your tongue. Higher than a plane. As holy as the Bible. Eyes no eyes only blind touch and biting teeth as the towns and cities crumble one by one until there’s only fire and hastened breath to keep the insects happy as they swarm in their droves searching for a way out without the means or the purpose. Fingers and thumbs. Red gums and areolas that spin like fairground rides on Sunday evenings by the coast where the breeze comes in off the sea and chokes the throats of all those who never believed in my words. Lift me up. Sink in and pull my hair as these feelings spill from our hips like the songs that spill from the stereo. Do you know how it makes me feel? Do you wanna know the thoughts that go through my head as you paint your life in images the likes of which I’ve wanted to be a part of for so long? Be my woman. Be my disease. Put your hands inside of my chest and take what’s left. In the moment where the spinning plates stop spinning, fall to your knees and do what you do. These guts; how they flower as you pucker up. Love isn’t enough, and nor is a kiss. It has to be everything. From the tip of the blade to the pillow where you rest your head; what flows between us nobody knows, but it has to be more than anyone else is willing to give.