You want to be seduced by the eyes
of pythons; you want to stop breathing.
You want to see the bones bent
over the rocks on the Sirens’ island.
You want your body bent over
those rocks in the burning salt water.
You want to lick the stem of a rose
and grow sick on your own blood.
You want love from the sons of devils
and impossible oaths from their throats.
You want back the blood they took.
It’s in a heart shaped bottle stuck inside
a devil-man’s chest. But you’ve lost
the power to break hearts. Your own
is so full of glass, it can barely beat.
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