by Angelica Bustle
have never sipped you.
Those skims you stole, the tongue you swept,
they were all lies I lied for you, I killed for you
the laugh that met my lips, the lips you slit;
have you not?
I have not
cared ever of your grin, I never shared it,
no combing have I made with my strands
upon your funnel, your
hips, fingers, your
a slithering fragrance, which I have
while mooningly glancing toward
your gems, your eyes, your voids,
those that I shan't ever remember.
I have never your name whispered, hummed,
screamed in your decay, or mine,
I have never even heard your name;
never have I known you, and thus
have never loved you.