My heart skips a beat when you cross my path,
Tracing invisible patterns with your pianist’s fingers
Indiscreetly sashaying to that shitty 80s music you so love.
Your deer eyes never could hide that bitterness
That they shot through your veins
At such a young age,
Starting your long-lasting addiction
To the macabre.
Tonight
I will stumble home drunkenly;
Half on you, half on that rank spirit that called to me
And carve into my skin
Another line for my tally
Of the days I’ve lusted for
Those pianist’s fingers
On
Me.
