Visitors

Beneath the aching moon,she sighs
as I read the poetry of her thighs...
Fingernail tracing syllables,
I tap on her fragile spot
and the veins beneath her skin become visible
like cracks on glass.
Once severed, they’re like moist lips, gaping, sputtering…
as if dying to say something.

I peel her body from the floor.
Her head adorns the door
like a grotesque knocker,
mouth agape in a perpetual roar,
as if to ward off visitors.

Still, they come pouring in,
intrigued by my chalk-white skin
and the euphoric sting...
Lonely, desperate souls
gutting the night with their screams.