there is a plague traveling down through the synapses firing off-beat through my cerebral cortex -
i've never seen things -

clearly.

but i find myself wondering about the days we spent
sharing hours
and silent, faraway voices
and snide,
tight-lipped barbs
with nothing but our fingerips
and electrical currents

and i have wondered,
staring beligerently and stoned-deaf into my computer screen
if your skin is as soft as it looks,
if your eyes are as deep as i imagine they could be
or if your heart would flutter
bird-wing-swift
and broken bone stuttering
under the tightening grip of my fingers at your throat,
or if you would be afraid of me
when i stared mad-eyed through smoke and darkness
and told you
with nothing more than a whisper of a smile
how badly i have wanted to rip you apart.

if i said i loved you,
if the whiskey in my voice vibrated
like heavy bass
and heavier metal
and stung the air with it's afterburn
would you tremble?

because i have imagined my teeth just under the crescent of your jaw,
and you have been
sweeter
than
rose
wine
and
laudanum
melting across my tongue.

i have never felt blossoms of flesh
softer than the fantasy of you
growling against my chest-plate
and,
because i think i could love you
because you think you could want to love me,
i will tell you,
and tell you,
and if it were never true,
we would never know.

but im sober,
and i can
prove it.