thaw baby.
I'd tear my lungs
out for a bit of warmth
if it means
I can die
in your arms.
mix your mascara
with the creases
of my mandible
and I won't feel
so frail.
reverse this constant
copy machine
repetition of our lifestyle
for I am an entrepreneur
in the business of you;
I sold my shares long ago.
do I need a business
card to call you?
no more hate emails,
no more plaintiff
voices on my answering machine
sounding like a boa constrictor
strangled by chicken feathers.
you won't need to look
at me soon, I promise,
your digital screens
in dripping black