All of these extra-terrestrial appendages
fuck me from the inside out, your tentacles
shatter patterns upon my skin -
we're dressing scars in silk -
and in the dark it tastes like honey and milk
but, we never wrote down the words
and the melodies are long-forgotten.
The needle skips and there's static
and noise in every other shade of grey,
books scattered upon a coffee table
choking back Shiraz letter by letter -
dictionaries spell words in black and white
but what's the point?
When we can't read or write.