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He Burned My Mouth
He is a honey, undoubtedly and wholly

No less sweet nor lacking in viscousness.

On the contrary,

Vestiges of the man stick to the walls of my skull,

Stain my subconscious;

I fear him to be a cavity for the brain,

Spoiling my memories and

Rotting in the depths of my mind

Until the day that my eyes melt out of my head

And my bones collapse onto themselves.

Or, at the minimum,

Until my next climax.


© Sálaris