Descend
o’ airborne one. I hold, suffering slightly, as we fall in step.

Have a laugh, while you can.
Economic variations collaborating in harmony have sobered my every last scream
of youth, at least, for now. (In love.) In the concept of love, I yield. Youth
be best for love in ways concupiscence, and solely this, for I go to pieces.
There’s no romance in this imitation prose.

A glass in your hand, you chuckle,
child’s play. If only you knew.

This is what I do. I will slowly
vitiate your liberal psyche, and deliberately. Calculative and acidic
expressive styling poisons will pour into your vena, hold fast. Watch close, don’t drink the Kool-Aid, she says, and
you do anyways.

I test your resistance as I reach
for your other hand; is this my closeted indignation crawling out on its hind
legs? A molecular reaction— (cement in my heart by pulling you apart, while
watching every strand of your dignity unfold, the way an incensed kitten tears
apart mother’s finest cashmere, oh d-d-dear.)

This is nothing short of foreign, I fear. Every prospective
cushion for the dry inside has lost all pride, and kneeled. Paramour, you
stand, just barely, just barely.

How do you watch me still?

O’ aficionado, oh how, oh how, oh how.
How now do you catch these gray stars and create colour? You leave me
stock-still the way only prey know.

Yet still,
I devise still, the way only the wicked do. Oh, I k now, I will be the end,
o’toy. I beg of you, put down the Kool-Aid, while you can. Because I’m
beginning to like you, angel. (And that is so so so much worse. This mental
preparation for the worst, for the coming, oh, just the start.)

I beg, I
beg, I beg. But in no way how the way of yours. If you misunderstand, your lips
are nearing the glass, oh my. Oh my.

Whether
you drink now is your choice. I will drop your hand at once, and fall back, for
once.

Ascend, o’
airborne one. You tear of weakness, and I will you to gain strength.

Here and
now, I fall back.