if we were artists at this
we should sell galleries
in such far reaches as…
I know your springtraps;
your knowledge of my chasms
(and how to fill them)
lies as yet unsurpassed–
though unchallenged, still.
i could not hurt you to save my own life,
and yet no pleasure to me is greater
than the taste of your tears on my tongue
when i’ve struck your sweet sharp harpstrings.
listen, for i will only offer this once:
i would torture you with your name at every sunrise,
if you would torture me with myself at every sunset.