Bones rest and form to the shape of the fragile beams beneath our feet; we are victims to the tension. Like docile children we sit erect in rigid wooden seats. Waltzing slow into the low light, anger makes her long-awaited appearance. She hums and begins to pulsate through the veins of our bodies. We sip the air, it is spiked with adrenaline and spite; the sharpness feels cold between my teeth. The silence gnashes its fangs; it slices the static air. Breaths pierce and the sound of my own voice causes my body to shake. You glance away and I imagine the way my fingernails would feel sinking slowly into your eye sockets and down your face; I despise the sin; it burns the insides of my flesh. I am delirious with hot hostility and passionate want to press my mouth so deeply into yours that you cannot separate from me. I fantasize for a moment about your hands pressing up against the force of mine and collapsing beneath the aching breathless love of my spirit. I want to be bound in your limbs; I want to be strangled beneath you, suffocating in your want for me. I want to bite your chin and indent into your skin the realities of how much I want you and hate what you and I both have done. I still can't separate our bodies..

 The hostility of our passion sits in two fragile chairs.

 My tongue is eloquent, I let it out of its cage and it dances upward; you're not hypnotized by any dance because you know what I'm really saying. You pull away and I imagine my naked skin being flung up against raw, rough, cement cylinder blocks; I slide down the gray wall of you that I could never scale. I've tried  to chew and gum through it. I've tried everything; I've got the bruises to prove it. "Someone that loves you would never do that..." they say.

 But if I really loved you,
 I'd let you walk away.