The Midnight Visit of a Lady Macbeth

You came in on a puff of insomnia

fever dream, You are my fever

sweats, eyes rolling

stopping at

Cherry.Cherry.Poisoned apple.

Locked away in a mythical trailer

amongst high Cascadia’s foggiest morning,

I’m a sucker for an entrance,

red sequin dress torn stockings holy grail,

You say,

“I’m not usually so baroque &

do you still have those pictures of Me &

I know you do.”

You say,

“Do you still love Me &

I adore how much you love Me &

I’m going to destroy everything you have,”

and You lay across my chest

like stale, remembered perfume settling

guiding my hand to

that old ember. One touch,

here, in my falsehood,

and I’m Yours again.

 

Where, where my riposte?

You dropped the wine

kissed me, and called cut.

 

I came about, dressed for You,

Führer meines herzens,

Ich hasses dich.

You lay across a park bench

writhing, hands running

from heels to beauty mark,

hitting every pose You heard was beautiful.

I say,

“Leave me alone, you cu…&

Who would have thought You’d have so much wet in you &

How’d You get into this murky hell, this foggy fjord of mine”

Incarnadine lips where I once rested

my tongue, take me back,

We shall fuck in the dirt

of the mountain path,

gravel clinging to our dew bodies,

while the rattlers and elk

sing triumphant, nature’s riot

my vision quest, my snapped

Vial back bringing You

back to me, so You

can breath teeth tight around

my ears.

 

I pulled the headscarf away from

Your dimples, gathered a truss

of imperfect, vixen ombre

and tied my hand tight

to the back of Your head,

So that You can’t make other plans.

Tonight, again, the firs

will make our bed,

and our memories will slither

in infinite knots, a prayer,

a sacrament, a ceremonious

consumption of the other.

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