You got sick by ten o’clock
I held back your hair
Through rose-colored glasses
My thousand-yard stare
Lost control with a smile
You fell into your bliss
Satiate your appetite
With a smuggled kiss
Feelings muddled, heresy
I try not to begrudge
But envy has no prejudice
An inexorable judge
Amid the perfume of spiced rum
I prayed to Gods of old
To shroud this thin accord of ours
Within a veil of gold
You stared, alert, into my eyes
Pale fingers on my skin
Faintly hear me muttering
A dark, forbidden hymn:
“Sabotage, immolate,
Summon firestorm,”
Cause burning in my apathy
Is all that keeps me warm.