I can’t tell if I heard the devil, call... Outside my rusted, half opened gate when I looked out upon the storm that Rustle and shutter my back gutter with crack and rupture, some great flutter Breathless…
Creepin’ cross’ my open door, I can’t tell if I heard the devil, call… My half tasted whiskey spilt towards the shadowed proprietor of soul snatching acquisitions
Twice I heard the devil call twice I did not recall, nor did I respond in call but when the devil three times demanded I spoke but one calm entry into the list of last lines, Famous last words and infamous deathly undertones; “I ain’t ready yet”
Looking past your iris, dilating and refracting, like a split atom, boiling hotter than the sun. Your kiss, an explosion of energy; the power of a single molecule. Your touch sends shockwaves from the epicenter in my chest. Magnitude measured by atomic force. The fallout would leak acid from my eyes, Lesions left on my skin, Blistered radiation of what could have been.