Caluminator

Shreds of truth
hang limp
around the crisp tumour

of your oil stained tongue.
Metallic spit,
Mother-of-Pearl sheen.

Swollen words,
gamey and ripe
weeping from the wound

of your loneliness.
Mordant bitterness,
fixing the colours

that stain your slant,
and point an inky finger
at your heart.