The days have got no kolour ie
they are not hazel but beautiful mounds
of meal of rotting worms
these I fail to touch are
her 2 breasts mound of grave meat

Crushing her nails amidst the tumbling bricks
She rises
Ashen gargoyle face we tangle
I am Io
and
She is Io

The oil between our thighs is
from pressed shit
The caresses we shit over and over
is crushed faces

Why should we mean nothing to each
When we're really nothing.