you are, my honey dearest,
sharp exhales and blurry headaches
richen my burnt mood to deal.
who cannot foresee, shut loud ones up,
ravish me into a question mark,
all angst—all shame—all brilliant.
his horrible rouge hue, a personal
momentary moment of momentum,
click away, pleadingly, swipe off.
belie your feet, my throat sinking in a
boat of discern, foamy bubbles
suffocating me—breathtaking isn’t it?
