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.