Fever

Ride out like death

on a pale           horse.

I would see you            bear apocalypse

on your            sticky          Icarus          wings.

Roll the red wine          over

your     hot pink tongue.

I would see      the rose of       your flesh

bloom at midnight      while the city

sleeps mummified in               cloth on

cloth.

Ours is a            dreamland

all         smoking           and      musk.

Ride out like                 Phaethon

with your        blazing youth.

We have all                  stolen chariots

we are doomed to command.

I would see      your limbs sear

a silhouette                  into deep blue sky.