Words are held in the blood of our hands bound in wiry love to blunt or burn longing tongues lick the sweet tears of fear, twisting pink flesh to the contortions of loss, the body writhes and rocks, writhes and retreats, soil rots before the frolic of yellow blasts all give us a song, flowering from the fall of pain could this be what we want, the frayed dance of desire torturing skin to the ecstasies beyond good and evil, let me hold you before the last spurt of love leaps from a throat sliced open