dialogue that wraps me into itself into private places in the night. into early overdue bedtimes. into dark corners of blankets. it is a simple guitar riff. a soothe and lullabye. a song that just keeps going. its hooks find anchor in strategic points along my limbs. down my breast bone. through my kneecaps. my ankles. it slowly hoists me closer to thinning air, and light-headed i arch like a sweet crucifiction. how being slain has become delightful pennance. the suffering of desires infused with lavender and ageless boy wafts of precum, now like sectret gifts of altitude.

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