Clearance.

Death chewed me up and spit me out at your feet
where the rain came pounding drowning in her tears
And you took my pants off as I winked and gave a broke-toothed grin
the broken earth won't laugh until she's collapsed under both our skins

and I'll go home wearing all your clothes
'cause you got yours and I got everything
and the hostile storm on swallowed clouds will scream
"Shut the door and run while you still have a chance."

and I'm blackened blood a mess upon the asphalt
I've worked small stones beneath my skin
and now a blinding force holds tight to everything you ever wanted
It's pretty, but a hurricane of quicksand

flashing passion trashed and passed
a twisted perfect body sex upon a fire pit
with ash slashed in cryptic prayers on parchment skin
on snaking steel-toed secrets begging

desperation down into your throat
I need a place- you need the nape of my
spine sliding down against your chest
with slick sweat demanding the curl of hands on my hips

and your tongue against my cracked heal and dilated vessels
I am here and yours on sheets twisted in the grabbing the kneading
the eyes rolled fingers unfurled and curled against my nails and your skin
I'm the piece of trash you nabbed and might just want to love

'Cause tonight you love the way I move
around the shadows in your room
and down the walls I arch and curve
against a fire made by friction

I turn your dreams to cinnamon
scorched lips as you dip your face in
with sugar beaded onto midnight ivory
and hyperventilation sucked between our lungs

I give you take every curve between our bodies
tracks of blood in hallucinations tasting sweet upon your back
you've ask me in to lip the nimble tip of this and that while
throw my moaning groaning song and watch me crack

my bits glitter all along your window sill
slide in to whisper out regret
a simple sign of undenied reminder
that she filled her hands with each piece she could get

I might be death's regurgitated mess on the sidewalk,
I might be pain on traced and wilted stalks,
I might be longing on a train of cash come sunrise,
but tonight, I am the junky dreamer in your bed.