Sly, moth-mouthed, sleep-talking
You’re still in the picture: too still.
You cross my mind in meter
Lye-sucking, soapy cheater
Inching your way across the chill.
Arsenic pearls, around her cold neck
Sweeping fingertips, making me feel sick
The weather is fairing fine for foaming deluge.
Cyanide diamond rings
Dripping between her teeth
Head buried deep in the lap of Luxury.