This foreign place, a stranger's face

welcome me more than your embrace

even the cars, in this very case

bring red to card, the spades to Ace.


"How is your arm, my lovely waste?"

I've had a war with loneliness

this limb is scarred, I love the taste

of secret powers, want me less.


Need me more I, might beg on knees

with head in hell, desperate to please

the vines they grow, then my neck hold

and pull me down, you laugh, I choke.