Your presence, kryptonite.
I grovel, weak-kneed,
eating earth, shattered,
thoughts frosted to icicles;
an igloo, I am, stoked by flames
within the cavern,
between barred walls of my ribs;
inside, a ball of blood
threatens to erupt
secrets of skeleton in whispers,
ghost words wrapped as candied curses.
Every sentence you speak is aphrodisiac.
A charmed scorpion, unstirred.
I am fleeing through
curtains and curtains of silken lies:
a masquerade; coven —
I, exiled from myself, stuck
in an outer universe, unmapped,
unable to return; unhinged,
a helium caricature ungrounded,
going up, up and away
into an oblivion of a loopy, speechless echo.