Starving for the poison

The junkie

Craving her dingy fill

Waiting with preconceived ideas

That now find light

In the dirty yellow alleyways


Rolling the taste around

Her tongue

Tasting, testing the sound

Rough toxins

Savoring

The strangely sour memories

In the half light of day


With nothing but good intentions

And a half pure mind


Soft skin

Petal like lips

Whispering, pleading for the poison

The rolls, gathering

Off the tongue

The sight of flesh

To great

The temptations

To necessary


Chipped nails

And Broken eyes

Everything but hollow

Hearts skipping beats

Pulses tapping

Rushing for the taste

Of your soft skin

Tasting your cold poison


Dreaming half dreams

Flying on wings

That no longer exist


Passions rising

Only to fall into a familiar reserve

Tipping the poison

Spilling the poison

Contaminating the rest

So now you can't determine

The clean passion

From all the polluted ones





B. Graham

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