swordplay

I take the remnants apart, you handed me a resinated, resonated flower. This time, you touched my hand, a slight brush with disaster. Don't deny it, you do not deny it. We will talk about anything today, and everything. And with your eyes and mine we will fuck in the only way we can, with words. It reminds me of swordplay, this latent homosexual conversation that turns the daylight to twilight. We never go out and look at the honey dripping from the moon and maybe one day we will, together.
Alone again, I take the flowers to my mouth. I smell some of the crickets outside and turn to embrace a resin rose. What my nose is now is a connoisseur of complete mastery, though I'm sniffing and breathing in the ends of the beast to get to the best of what was offered. It was an alien offering, and no one could describe the experience. Though my heart is as empty as your hand, I keep holding on to something larger than us. You won't be mine to possess and I have died for that death, and forgave you for the murder of we.