I want to taste the madness on a summer's tongue 
my body; a sealed envelope of a soft wretchedness, 
loosely bound and born to leak 
I know its beauty because it bleeds. 
my entrails stranded from formaldehyde, 
now high and dry, 
thirsting like a brief lover on the night before, to drink a glass of sea 
just in the crisp of the morning, to be of withered, salted chaff-skin 
with a monsoon-ed hour inside 
that never stops swelling 
like an overripe fruit pulping and plumping 
into a hot, lipid liquor spilling; 
like frothed milk from a juddering steel jug 
open wide, honey, it's summer again and 
it's the time of the year when 
we won't be poisoned from gulping toxins down our throats 
and I will tell you again and again about 
how much I love indulgence, 
how much I love living in the ignorance of open wounds.