Kindra M. Austin
mon amour, je vais mourir pour toi
Hand me the scalpel;
excise my own love
98.6° and sputtering crimson
I want to see my cooling lifeblood
soak into the pores of your gluttonous hands; and
when you comb those sticky fingers through your dark curled hair, I
want you to remember my kohl edged eyes staring down at you in the
darkness of our vulgar fornication.
Bite into the piece of me you cradle in red slickened palms, and
sup what’s left of my liquid soul.