Two

could you explain to me
how often you
draw your lines
and open your mouth
when daggers
emerge from your
nervous lips?

Will you share your
sex and shoot up
my golden veins?

How often do you
tickle my spine
with voodoo fingers
the bite almost like
the radio stations
too often played but
still forgotten?

Do I ask too many question
and talk too little
with needles
and too often for
you?

Does emptiness
make you feel safe
and lollipops
remind you of childhoods
spent like
hourglass sand,
stealthily slipping?

Why does the rain never
seem to stop?