Yuletide Cyanide

Torpor,
Headaches,
Beadaches,
Stress, and
Snow

Here I lie
Paralyzed
And consumed
By you

Being bruised
And bled
Like I’ve wandered
Into your web

Skin soft like flakes
That fall outside
How it gives to the touch
And how it melts with me

Wrapped up as I’m
In your cocoon
Bandaging me in slik
Spun of cyanide

Bruised neck
Paralyzing my stem
To the core
Of where petal beds bloom

Red like roses
Vulnerable
And thornstress poised
To stoke desire

Rooted in the soil
Of worlds of blankets
The world
We make love upon

Stayed quiet

Of yuletides and spookiness
Of ghosts that creep through
Halls of my home
In the dead of Christmas morning

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