10.1.11 - Black Mountain

Killer, in plural

I give away my swagger and

I think I may take to the heroin

were you to knock me out and die.

Baby, oh baby

I do so dream of wolves;

thirsty,

drooling,

fucking, human wolves

and getting finally hard,

the ravenous hunger deepens me.

The lengths of our lives are alone and ungathered

we are,

in-fucking-credible

as a half-crescent moon

coming alive,

on a dead-end firefly road.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/4j24xf/untitled_2/, https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/4j4av0/one_word_not_enough_too_much/