Portal Protein

My body and vessel were wet and inflamed along the travel lines.
I held the film and aura of absolute doom.
The door was grinding open.
The era was displayed on my instruments and the risk of itchy collapse radiated in warning glows.

Her horny thighs approached me, glistening with fabrics undiscovered.
Her mucosa conspired.
The red tips of her trigger fingers alive with the chatter and melting of my ribs and femur bones.

In coded collapse and ritualized disguises, the walls bled and glistened.
Mania, mutilation, surrealist tableaux.
Her lips and organs were beating as one, throbbing with ecstatic distress.

This torture museum shouts and drools upon history’s ripe chest.
Her lips burst with unholy noise.

“I had a dream last night that you were dying. In your holiness you could recite the names of all future catastrophes. You wouldn’t stop babbling.”

Her chest emerged with steely connections.

Her eyes were soft,
splattered with fleshy hues and milky blood.

Her legs, dark portraits collapsing into infernal chants.

Weapons of war were strung together inside her; I had placed myself with her now.