I wish I could stop thinking
you are the epitome, the albatross
it's as bare a clay left to dry
crack and red and sculptures of rock depicts a sacred icon
with no name.
gladiator for the palatial frequence
My head aching for the overflowing crystal scales
and modify the intense orange friction riding in the throat
cataract, heart disease in armor
and murder with the nitric fright of your thoughts
the contemporary fusion of
acrylic magenta and
periwinkle blue.
your kid gloves fill with glitter
I wish you a coy tea party
an infliction of subtle torture through prattle bubbling out of black tea
and I know how you would sit and tremble, all of you
lost in your own crawfish grip on self control
it's cloying and you hate it
can I cry to a Baroque violin?
or
not at all?

I croon partially out of
a fascination for
kites in Wonderland.