Clenching, my lover feels a darkness coming, like bone
scraping bone. A furtive moan fills the blighted stranger
within this curse. A stranger course of events
comes to nightly pass, past darkened furniture he
seeks in night bankrupt prescriptions : doctors plying him
with cocktails. He a man who in mirror measures, strangles
life from lemony, bilious flavors, other garnishments.
Shuffling back, he grips the lamps shut, drags my shadow
over his, curls tight around the sore. Pretending it away,
my kneading touch drives down these darker hues,
out his groaning self, sweating back into a pale
remembrance of healthy flesh. Knots beneath,
tumescent, refigure as muscles, and unclamp. Stored
sickness in current dims, molten. Hush his blazing core.