fuchsia onyx

find me lost
in your half phrases
of delusional fancies:
rationality is an
overpriced asylum
i have escaped;
your lips,
laced with
a burning frenzy
of obsidian bloodlust
reflect my thirst
for boundless dominion;
and you can
find a fiery fashion
with marionette
and fantoccini;
run your fingertips
over my lips
and listen to
words that hide
unspoken in
complaisant coterie;
your impulses feel
like shadow play
in tyrannical onyx;
i hope your lips
taste as crimson
as my thoughts
run wild and
fuchsia.

T. E. Pyrus

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