Where There's Pleasure, There's Home

I cast the bones to the bed

And expect to see a future for me,

For us, for love.

A twisted necromancy this is,

Body after body, moan after moan,

Turning into whispers of promises unsaid,

Delusions felt because I always assume

That where there is pleasure there is home,

For at least a moment, a vision, a sunrise.

I pump, I dig, I frack for the thinniest stream of promise,

Clean oils lubricating slippery goodbyes,

Hope of the night incinerated by the flame of dawn.

Submerge me in a bath of ashes,

A graveyard for stillborn romances,

Of loves almost to come, crowning jewels for the heartbroken,

Reigning loneliness in a kingdom of one.

In those bones I see no future,

Simply the dried marrow of wistful affections

Presented in a kiss.