Sometimes the unholy fears
come obliquely-
from the scorpions.
Tongue tastes the salt of spilled
hate. You execute the hooded anxieties,
creating a cadaver pyramid.
Stich-open-stitch. Cobra
in the bush. Awesome colors of eyes
Brown-blue-green.
I am not going to kiss
the chillies. Burning hot lips.
The contours were enticing.
I shut my eyes for a weird encounter.
The floors pulverized. I still
stand in mud, on my own.
