Where do you go to (my lovely)
Somewhere, a barbed tongue scrapes silence
off whose? whalebone ribcage
flanked by battalion incisors sunk into the frosted pink
of foxglove, flashing red eyes.
O little purple dots
flee this rotten carcass
Narcissus fury barrels into nightshade webs
hiding locusts fed on raw mammary vines, bowed constrictions
of brittle limbs crawling around infertile fires. Singed by the skinning
blood-orange wax they drop into the heroine seduction of gasoline.
Emery boards crystallise the snake’s shedding skin
left in the shadow of belladonna
hanging: a fruitless bat, clipped
and drained for its venom.