Two

White house tastes blue, like chalk, like ocean
Sunset or sunrise, quilted through my skin and wrapped around my body, windows whispering don’t tell don’t tell don’t tell

We seek paradise with no forethought
We welcome demons, and like us

They feast
There is no Heaven to chip your teeth on
And no Hell
There is only maple tree
Sandbox
Mud
And closed eyes
There is only white house
Golden trim
It is only purgatory
And you are little death

Bloody your tongue like your hands
Unthread your skin
White house tastes blue like abstraction,
Like
Rushing water, burning lungs and ribbons
Around throat

In the desert

rock
for miles
red, and dust
once sea

once great,
and submerged

once mountain,
and execution

Jesse s. is a Black author and poet from the Midwest, with a specialty for horror and homoeroticism. He is currently developing a chapbook entitled “Eros in Dying” and can be found at the bottom of any shallow ditch, or at @gothqore on Twitter.