you knee deep in your ecstasy tripping over a lolling tongue that trails its tastebuds in the revulsion of decadence overripe passionfruit dribbles down the paintings the colours of jewels the taste of gluttony blood stays fresh always but you don t understand in your epicurean ethic (with your own interpretation of the value of sensual things) promise that you ll hold me to this sodden memory of you trapped in the leaves of a burnt teabag buried in the clutter on my bedside table fresh blood splatters on the pristine sheets as my reward in the shape of a seven-pointed star slipping on my passion that was spilled upon the floor when the wine glass shattered beside the bed slashing the flesh of my convulsing fingers the curse of hedonism has laid itself across your lap caught in the passions of angels denied fallen in graceful green fire to lakes far below searching for pleasure in the appeal of your gory seductiveness in a masochist s brothel sharpened nails fangs carve out your epitaph on your heaving belly you oblivious to the machine etching your crime into your skin wouldn t franz envy your plight in that - achieving in nature what he had only sought in prose and learning your sins in the Design of your slashes enlightenment in death commandments engraved so billy would envy you too my disgust is your sacrament and my venom your wine but you will not be poisoned - in the birth waters of prostitutes my dear you drown in your lust my murder too late