Upon peeling sheer layers
of ivory flesh
you will find that bones
do not reside.
I have been battered too far
to hold structure.

Fragments may remain,
mend them if you’d like,
although they wont fit right-
see they shall snap,
diffuse into black water blood
receding beneath the surface,
engulfed, once again.

The good die young,
which solves why breath still
twists from my lips,
and is an elegant excuse
to smother my vices.
raunchy palms dwell untouched-
long forgotten the feeling that comes
with passion, yearning,
to press still against anothers.

Kiss me tenderly but do not panic
when I rupture into celestial grime
and dissipate into the sky,
for I am returning home,
where I belong,
solo in the void.