Polyester gods smooth 
into crevices.  It is a sin the
way it creeps, the humidity
darkening into desire. 
This atmosphere is picked clean.
I want more than the ache
of continued existence, my hands
are too close to your heart. 
But never crossing.  Already
the air between us is thin. 
Do you feel slighted?   
An indifferent crucifixion
suffocates, eyes averted. 
You linger in dilation, 
will your eyes turn white
when there is no blood? 
There is always blood. 
I lick my fingers clean
because they know
their way home.

.