Selected Poems
The first barter
When you beckon
these arms will
become serpents.
Fingers turn fanged.
My backbone uncoils
and cold blood boils.
To unburden you
of your inferiority,
is for your pleasure
To squeeze immortality
out of your aching,
is my pleasure.
Your kind gifts
were taken, eaten.
It's what I came for.
No need for kisses.
I ‘ll see my own way
out of your garden.
these arms will
become serpents.
Fingers turn fanged.
My backbone uncoils
and cold blood boils.
To unburden you
of your inferiority,
is for your pleasure
To squeeze immortality
out of your aching,
is my pleasure.
Your kind gifts
were taken, eaten.
It's what I came for.
No need for kisses.
I ‘ll see my own way
out of your garden.
