I want to press into you with a mortar and pestle. Break open your binding and extract what makes you essential.

A little dot of you dropped onto my fingertips, smeared lightly onto the pulsing vein laid bare on my neck. 

Exhilarating this thing you bring, adventure, exploring beyond comfortable boundaries. The danger in you is invigorating. 

There are fire and poison mixed through your meat, rubbing you onto me proves a fatal mistake. 

Wanting you to be my muse, refusing to acknowledge the bomb inside you. 

Exploding against my throat and face, blood rushes out, into black, into space. 

I chose you, your elegance, your grace. I ground you up into an opalescent oily paste. 

Believing the notion of mixing us like this would be a climactic soul rendering embrace.

Here I am, clenching my hands around my throat. Laughing while the blood swells around them, aware that I’m some cosmic joke.   

You, my muse, standing over me, with deep ruby lips grinning unapologetically, placed your fingertips against my eyes, closing them this one last time. 

“You should have known better sweet simpleton.” 

The last message delivered with tongue curling venom.