his words are like ice down your neck
the way he sweeps like wind in the middle of the night
the gust that holds you close and lets you go in sudden surprise
your death is his high and your fright is his life
he watches you struggle when your lust is only a hug
but you’re the bug he’ll squish and your neck is his next break
eyes lingering from beneath, he loves to watch you sleep
he celebrates with steak as his next high is your last wake
he funnels his laughter through the ooze that comes from you
the blood, through his fingers and his words forever linger
but the glimmer of his eyes make it alright
your death was never a surprise and his face was always grace
the way, the space and the place you wanted on your final day