Brittle man reading black and white like an ink blot.
I am surrounded.
Oh, the soft water of emotion like a finger stroking
my lips. Exposed, naked,
a flame, a bonfire, an explosion - waves going out of me.
He starts to stare, a woman, also texturally
dead, too.
My lips, again. A drop of coolness tantalizes me with drowning.
Our environment creaks. They ignore the groaning, but he is
reading over my shoulder.
No harsh ridges, only undulation Phantom green smothers
any sound. Unbearable that I cannot cry out,
but a mocking smile
will manage what I cannot otherwise express. Except my body
squirms, choking from the throat.