Your conjunctives are correlatives of quickly-faded sin

arthritis of a tattered moral construct.

Dissolve the poison treacheries upon your tainted tongue

then duck and break your neck, and know the sordid deed is done.

-

Patterned stocking lace can take my night and make it whole

to purge the seething sunlight from my scarcely sober eye.

The phantom knew the labyrinth is swirling in the dust

but dust encroaches ashes in the twining of a heart.

-

Ashes to ashes and dust to dust

(you little whirlwind.)

Now lie to me again

we aren't finished yet.