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From my stained fingers
to your paper
                    heart:
let me cover this blinding
                         swallowing
whiteness with blotches of black.
Tell me: can I use this word
             here, or should I place it
here – which do you covet?

             I covet you.

The days roaming violently
outside my blurred windows:
           unnoticed. They must
           sulk back to oblivion –
your innocent streak haunts me.
Into dreams and waking,
I cannot tell them apart any longer.

I seek to cover you entirely with
ink-stained passion. Like I
trace my finger along a lover’s
adorable contours; in the manner I mark
his skin with heated kisses:
                  such do I you.

You are a compulsory-disorder,
teasing me into exhausted melancholia in those
suffocating eternities when my hand
                 stops.
When my mind takes on the blank qualities of
               a mirror;
torture. I cannot touch you
                         fill you
                         fill you with me,
               and then-

                         bliss.


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