Tell me, stranger,
is it strange to want to breathe your breath
inhale a scent, inflict sweet death?
Is it strange to yearn for champagne licks
press rose bush kisses, wage war each prick?
Surviving solely in your embrace
spinning spine novels with fingers traced.
Am I strange, to gaze upon your chest
rising slowly, like sun aloft crest?
Is it strange to drown in confit air
knowing no other life to spare?
Is it strange, you find, to call a plea
in sake of succumbing to human breeze?
It is not as strange as you believe.
I’ve chased along in shadowed weave,
A maze to end unknowing lust
and you, so light like angel dust.