Thirst unquenched, we light the flame and dance through flickered nights; toes beating through the soil--sick--oblivious in lust.

I sip from the chalice of
the earth's condition,
wise with poison, drunken
of the salts of passion come before.

Sweetness, stolen from
the branch
entrenches senses,
wipes the slate with
bitter berry blossoms,
ripening still
deep in my
rumbling tummy.

The sour sting of
acid, then
the tartness, yearning
to be sweet,
wtih syrupy
abandon, I
can die
a restless beast.