Flip your shit past another lasses humble dwelling.
These days feel like summer and I crave your warm naked flesh in heat. My mind develops resistance to you, my heart now at the bottom of a hard well, drinking purity, but my body contains the memory inside of my pores. Scent still sticks to me like another skin translucent and pungent like you. I can see through your body like a crystal clear vase meant to hold the most voluptuous roses, red and full, like that of the missing heart of you. You bleed a liquid so clear and fine it tastes like medicine which soothes for the moment. Nutrition is more promising yet you always feed me sugar by the spoonful to help it all down. What good is the supposed antidote when it rots my teeth and spoils my organs? The sight of you at my door you believe to be the remedy that will clean the air so we can breathe again, unpolluted, hopeless air. Another world leaks in and lends itself, the atmosphere in which we might thrive some more, but it is only temporary because like you it's an Indian-giver. The skin attached to me is becoming a film I can peel back since somewhere underneath is myself. Shedding layers and climbing out of shells that look a lot like me I admire them with fondness but in this I would be reintroduced to myself. All of your intentions that lack the heart, the vase with no rose, your body without heat, the worthless effort is all dead to me. I await my passing as well when my body is a corpse to your sex as to your body and to your scent.