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Oh baby. You know me. How did I end up On my knees, Waiting for you To answer me? I clasp my hands In desperation Wishing you’d hit me With the reality I want. Oh sugar, Don’t you know How much I love you? How did we get here? How did we get here? You’re New York, and home, and Miami. I want the best for you, And I want you to die. Oh lover, You’re no lover. You only give in to What the flesh wants. Please shake me Back into reality. Nothing is real. Nothing is permanent. It’

There are things I can't tell you. There are things I can't say Like "I pray I can still smell you," At the end of the day: Your scent sticks to my clothing And imprints on my skin; Your sweat is a coating That I want to bathe in. Your voice is a perfume Of honey and smoke; But your breath has no curfew, God, I wish you would choke. I inhale every word every time that you speak — Loving a fragrance like you is not for the weak.

A dark sonnet for Spooky Season. I know where the bodies are buried. I hear your skeletons raging at night. I see the weight that you’ve carried. I know your demons and how they give you a fright. It’s a production to unravel your layers — Like a mummy you try to cover what’s dead. And despite your thousands of prayers, There will never be enough thread. You may dress like a regular person, But I know there’s a dark spirit in there That requires wickedness to worsen Your alre