Black mansion of sex and greed,
put me on a leash.
Improvise missing body parts,
fill lines of secretion with
coven-scented lotions and creams.
Fill mouths with petals of saliva,
and dress your dolls in the dark–
the crow’s charcoal cold.
Clawed fingers poke your abdomen,
swapping sensory and dysfunction–
carve rings of starving and wait.
Soak up pools of moisture,
with tongues laced and dissected
right down the middle–
from the scissors you carry in your pocket.
Break the rules of scent and stench,
wear the lipstick of misanthropes–
the perfumes of Cupid’s ritual,
maintain your homeostasis
through electrically charged bodies,
at broken arm’s length.
Eat morsels of chocolate and testify,
the poisons in your system barricade–
the beginning of the end.