Whirlspinandareachnotbreathing
In cosmic
Sepulchral arcs,
Sienna tinged paint
And ears falling to the ground.

My Van Gogh?
You whispered
Enjambed as you were
In my greatest sequence

A smile flickered softly-
Candle flame burnt
By your wing moth mouth
Resisting and persisting
On Armageddon.

Burn?
“Yes”
My enraptured tongue churned.

Crystal glass sang together complete
Screeching
Demanding
Opiate ringing
And my murmured ‘c’est la vie’
Became mortem petite.