Look at the ceiling of this wretched room,
the grey smoke surges and rumbles as
its mouth gapes across the edges and eats away
its white children. An old friend greets me
with her sweet soft kisses and wisps
past my neck. I whisper her name and she
responds with a blow. I feel her spin within me;
a familiar touch. Drab brown scatter hums and
giggles about our affair. As I lay down,
she began to sing, her song counteracts
with the loud fading gallops from heaven.
Twin cerulean horses fall from the
above and crash into a roaring orgasm. They
grasp her frail waist in a swift cutting movement.
Her silence wails like a dead sister;
a storm is approaching.