The edge of nothing

At the absolute edge of nothing
I do not need to be instructed, sir;
nor do I need to be held or comforted;
here, every single moment of you
and your company is sheer,
unadulterated agony from the hint of
effervescent lust to flooding sexual
seas and tormented sensuality;

I would open my wings to escape;
but, with the flight of old fires,
afraid they will die forgotten,
the cold leaves me icy blue like
the coldest winter's morning,
fucked, like me, by all your
infernal and mechanistic requests
that amount to absolutely nothing.