Poetry

Revisiting my lust, in 
beyond borders; 
I want to write your 
name in cursive script. 
 
Forked, when I pick up 
the undiluted hemlock 
from your eyes. How would 
you like to become a game changer? 
 
A shirtless moon walks 
with me on empty stomach 
to scrap the night from 
the exuberant trees. 
 
Conversion factor comes 
into force, unusing the nector. 
I will still say my prayers 
to seek nothing.