cigarette constellations

milk monologues on a chocolate chip moon: tau orionis

she was death's first kiss. a tongue-rolled cherry knot on heartbreak avenue with the windows rolled down. licorice and leather, his sipidity a high-speed chase of nightingale narcomancy. she swallowed him like jupiter liquified, a prescription orange sunset of naupathia and waves like newborn lemonade. sarcophilous sedation and machine washed mangoes left to tiptoe through her void of viridian vines.

she was his 9pm, moon-split pith of unpeeled dismal divinity. in the waxing phases of shy yellow to exposed tuscan sun, he made love to her with the heat of the waning crescent as macabre membrane music. he was the hallucinated cadence of a candy-corn composition, the dependency deafening the rondeau rhapsody of a lover's tryst. he sat in pandemonium, hushing the moans of medicinal intercourse between cloud nine capsules and over the moon opioids. he was dissolving—he called it reincarnation.

dead, but he tasted like art's first breath. a virtu, a vis of intemerate wolves donned in sheep's skin, dancing like match-struck pointe shoes in pas de bourrée. he was ballet in nautical twilight, an arabesque of rotten rainbows and expired equilibrium, that sung sobriety but murdered the walk and turn like zig-zag sidewalk chalk.

advil blue jeans. he was denim in doses, his aura a sunny-side up smile of compunctious cream cheese irises and pretty-pebble serenades on juliet's balcony. he brought distraction in his paramedic pockets, the intravenous therapy of defrosted lucidity and re-warmed rapture. medicine in tangerine tupperware, his esse was plastic-lidded fixation, warmth in all the antarctic aisles of her sapless colosseum.

death was her saccharine hydration, like milk monologues on a chocolate chip moon. his native language honey like yolk, thick with the deception of a molasses manslaughter. he was pluto's preserve. an 1897 apricot spread of violent delights, his sin a violent end of one too many blue-sky lullabies. yet, she replayed him like caramelized cassettes and dipped her palate in his seduction like a star fruit siren's song. let lips do what hands do. a naked prayer, death was. sex on the soft papilla of a preacher's pew at noon in an analeptic annihilation.

thus with a kiss, i die.