dance with penumbra

in the slaughterhouse
all faces look the same

We lay together, the putrid flavor of your liquid a remnant on my langauge,

Our passion spent, its stench hangs in the room, sweetened slightly by the fresh March breeze that seeps through the open window, brushes back the burgundy curtains, softly, gently, like the hands of the lover i was moments before. Smoking cigarettes i the vacuum, words that got us here now stick in the throat and must be spit out, expurgated--sputtering, the words echo in the hollow, betray our legends.

We pull at the damp sheets, cover portions of our pink, pimpled flesh--so suddenly naked, weathering the vast, terrifying minutes between desire and sleep.