your teeth complement my heart

my arrhythmic body
dances on your lips;
skeletal vibrations
shake the bedroom.
antique teapots fall
off the windowsill–
shattering glass,
shattering sound–
as i fuck the edge
of your curtains,
refined velvet drapes
that match your ego,
in size and color and
how easily they rip off,

but your skin matches my carpet
a lot better than empty furniture,
don't you think?

i'll throw a fit out the window
because i'm not fit to be yours.
you'll throw my plastic heart
a way
     (your way,
     never mine)
out the car door of my uvula.

i'll burn all your silver
and meld it to a bullet
to load in my lovegun.
i'll blow your brains
like wind or a whore,
stripping all
the fur from
a lachrymal
lycanthrope

and just look at that lovely full moon!
it's about as radiant as a thumbtack.
and as soon as you're done sharpening
your battleaxe incisors, i'll be on your
way/my
way/no
way/ward

and you'll bite the dots off question marks
and peel the flesh from my chemical skull
and swallow some leftover epithelial cells;
you'll redesign the blueprints of my bones,
howling at decor like a ravenous cannibal,
and devour my esteem at a carnivorous fête
while wild wolves and gorillas tear my limbs
and crunch on the remainders of my patience.

i may be the main course
at this buffet of buffoons,
but hasn't anyone told you
not to play with your food?