“Blinded by No Emotions”
You can have the best of me.
I don’t want him anymore.
Drive in a car made of ice shavings
over the cliff to a wolverine.
We played the magical book
at firestorm concerts
kissed scorpions
and Betty’s nipples lit up.
Blowtorches were our safe haven:
the life you lead as a rat,
bats screaming too loudly to exist
above the cliff that laughed back,
we glimpse a blanket of starfish
combed to their hearts’ content
ravished by the completeness
of all opened presents’
lace drawn hastily away
from pregnant shadows’
rope with the beckoning of claws
unforgiven by the rake you broke
when sweeping leaves too eagerly
and spotted the hidden witch
in the dusty shed
her meat collection
unfolding with a hissing.
nicholauspatnaude 
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