Here is your ideal lover,
restless beside you in bed,
skin alive with a traveling infestation.
Embrace the one who writhes as he sleeps.
Here is your constant one,
with words as sweet as rot
leaking from cracked teeth that teem with larvae.
Suck his infected tongue with your lips
Because he cannot harm you.
Here is your adored one's treasured heart
housing sickening vermin.
Never mind the pitch and yaw
Of whatever fills his discolored chest.
He can explain all that, like so many times before;
Bring in a team to identify exactly what he is.
Sit beside him and listen to him break wetly apart,
and, out of kindness, try not to vomit too obviously.
He is not what you thought he was.
He is legion,
and it is himself he devours, not you.
For Skyflower Friday. Monsters.