BlackBoard

my spittle becomes crude chalk
– blatantly masturbating
against the blackboard of your mind

(..braying broken -
unspoken thoughts…)

flaying open wounds as I had once
permitted the suede privates
of your birth-ridden deterioration
to enter this Temple of mine

plaguing my already torporific soul
with the vertigo of pulse
– but having graduated now
I lay here on your abandoned shores

(on the brink
of erasure…)