I'm left breathless and bleeding
beneath your stifling heat.
when we touch, your sonorous pulse
stutters—a beautiful broken record.
/
who are you? who am I
to you? tell me, but quietly. I think
you are a dream thing, a glass
creation; my hands fall away from your fractures.
/
sweat-slick and laughing, we spasm
to their ruinous songs. guide me through your love
like it's a landscape of hellfire, then redefine us both with
each blissful dredge of oxygen.
/
I'll defend you from His arms race
if you'll lay me down when we reach
the morning gold. our demons call us delinquents,
but I know we are renegades.
/
am I the antichrist to you?