to have it be only for me

beating for me with chanting echoes

sneaking in under every familiar smell

 

your clothes are stained with wine

grotesquely clinging to your teeth

 

holy holy snow

and awful filthy wine

the gray dust of shoestrings

 

before you     twisting wraithes

threaten to peel you apart

flying back to their caves

 

would you once look through a kaleidescope

try to make sense of a ball of yarn

in braided breathing wreathes

 

please     just do that for me