I want to be the needle in your thigh plowing endlessly the field of your discomfort like a splintery thing.
Extract the venom to your groin, belly up writhing. I’m like poison groping through the artery. White knuckle the blade. Sweet savoring.
Could I prick the vein and string it up like a harp string?
I’m plucking away at you, plucking away at you. Don’t you think for the moment that I have the twist on you? I turn you up, under, down, and through for you to chew the fabric, loosen the weave, and I unravel you.
I’m the needle in your brain that pokes subliminally your view. Eye stimuli blinding.
See!
I’m toxic, and you’re stigmatizing me. You’ve scraped the edge of my stigmata-like rage. I’ve got plans to beckon blows to your face. Slap the surface ‘cause I’m tantalizing you.
I’m like the pinprick precision that makes hair stand on end. I’m like the sickle in the wheat field with the blade that bends. And I thrust at you, saber lunge, parry. It’s the second intention you’ve got to watch out for with me. I’m stringing you up in the wicker weave.
Cocoon.
Swathe.
Catacomb and bloom.
Do you think that maybe I could rearrange you?
Setting the pattern like the Labyrinth is a dangerous thing.
I’m the beautiful Ariadne in the maze with the string. I could pull you through the ramble and what fun it might be to dodge the beast, just out of reach! A manic progression that spirals you through. Once you’re out the other side you might find that you’re a little "touched," as they say. Would you calibrate in droplets the blood that I taint?
A tattooed vengeance, palms up prayerfully.
I incarnate. Soliloquy. So I can prickle you in phrases the sleep somnilioquy.
Guzzle, gulp, grope through the underbrush.
And you’re groveling!
You’re groveling!
Keep groveling for me!
Capillary sludge to halt the serpentine scream! Needle pricks and snakeroot, I seethe toxicity.
Arsenic and rose pricks make pillow talk of me.
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