it is the hush of a candle  

in a house engulfed in flame.

and it is the worm slithering up my throat  

with butterfly wings, beating.

it is the shattered vertebrae,

fraying the birds soft gut.

and it is the buzz of silence,

the wind whispers.

it is the cement breath,

embalming our trembling figures.

and it is your tongue as it slurps the flesh

pooling beneath my elbow.

it is the speck of light

in a constellation of pollution.

and it is the synthetic shadow of a woman,

strangled by the string of stars.

it is the tongue like a leech

that masks the blisters in my throat

with a film of flem.

and it is the dream that licks my inner ear

and devastates my mind.

it is the italicized ribbon of intestine

burrowing into bone.

and it is the ruined ruins  

of your ribcage.

it is the smoke weaving

throughout the labyrinth of organ.

and it is the thin shadow of sweat

beneath the mask of makeup.

it is the cracked lips,  

and the broken nose,

the broken dreams.