Should I be tasting your inner feast
or rainy waves of green and blue,
(Buried alive, sunk in my eyes, still fighting, yes,
against the brute),
should I prefer effervescence to heavy liquids of abyss
(the flame inside the stony heart your endless thoughts dismiss)
when the silenced mirror breaks in outward light
(your margins and their grief reveals).
I know I cannot fight the beasts you feed,
not with my arms, nor with my eyes
(I know your insulated spirit cries.)
I shouldn’t taste your lies.