Dies iræ! dies illa
Solvet sæclum in favilla …
Quid sum miser tunc dicturus?
You stare at me
through layers of bodies
and the cold intensity of your eyes
tells me more than their
shouted whispers and
frantic touches.
And I would wither and fade to hear your words in my ears.
Your stare is a fist across my jaw
fire on my face
blood in my mouth
and gravel on my back.
If this is the war you're making
then I would bleed and burn to feel you on my skin.
I watch women rub against you
trying to make a wish on your magic lamp
and they believe your early morning laugh
and sunned-in smile.
but I see the truth in your teeth and venom
and I would die to feel you in my veins.
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