those eyes
burning like
moons on fire, like
matchstick fingers on
callused ground. accidents
we asked for, the slender hands
we took and pulled, the tin levers
they constructed for destruction. our
hearts were throbbing egos, and you knew just
the words to swell them to explosion. you
with those cyanide eyes, snowflakes come
to mind and i find myself on
a foreign track, dripping mouth
useless in defense from
your cloudy face and
expert choice of
where to speak
and to

etheree: poetry form with 10 lines, line 1 having one syllable, line 2 with two syllables, and so on until line 10 with ten syllables.
(this is a double with a reversed etheree)