Fever


Ride out like death

on a pale           horse.

I would see you            bear apocalypse

on your            sticky          Icarus          wings.


Roll the red wine          over

your     hot pink tongue.


I would see      the rose of       your flesh

bloom at midnight      while the city

sleeps mummified in               cloth on

cloth.


Ours is a            dreamland

all         smoking           and      musk.


Ride out like                 Phaethon

with your        blazing youth.


We have all                  stolen chariots

we are doomed to command.


I would see      your limbs sear

a silhouette                  into deep blue sky.

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