Blood red lips kiss the mouths of stained glass bottles.
Bottoms up, seal it shut with a cobblestone cork.
It’s almost religious; it’s almost romantic
But let’s not get caught up in semantics.
Stilettos thin as nails, nails razor-edged,
No twitch or flicker of emotion betrays her.
She feels like a ghost and tastes like an omen;
My arms are open.
She’s worth the black cat hairs on my pillow.
God help me,
I’m in love with lovelessness.