Spin My Skull

She resembled a skinny mannequin perched high on a gawdy
 bistro chair.
Ivory legs crossed, she sits with 
black-X  vinyl stickers she wears
as pasties over her absent breasts.
Worn out ideas falling out like
strands of hair that smell of scorched
apricots and fermented pears.

Spin my skull to taste your voice
 you are everything that's wrong
with me.
Kiss me, as I spit pollution and cough.
Let me nurse fluid from your
flower as if death were made of
indigo fabric studded with fake
diamonds.
Drain me, leave the edges of my
 bones intact for ambiance.

Inject me with your memory as I
watch you  deep throat sin
Crimson ribbons wrap your narrow
waist the frayed  edges catch
on burs
My courage to erase you slips away
 in nocturnal silence
My frustration eternally lives