A Scab

you were never in love with me except for that feeling that burst through your cock and crowed for me at dawns break and alarmed all but a saint and allowed room for fashion at a reasonable rate coupled with all of your expression and crippling indecision the catacombs of your whys fevering the attempts to boiling points and highs cooling them with distance and neglected penmanship weak correspondence as decayed as starvation amidst the famine burning deep inside my loins growth further inside my womb desire deeper than my mind and all tormented by your words or lack there of your worthy less than soul to speak any kinder than capable of sewn to my death I take with thee the promise of a note left untold.