I'm enticing a temperate cadaver into my tongue with my palms I can still remember how it must have screamed ran it headless with my tears my hands are shaking I'm trying not to cry my head's spinning but I can still bring myself to think of you and I wonder what you would do with the blood on my hands the part of me that loves you is trying to convince the part of me that doesn't and maybe that's why the person in the mirror is heaving at the sight of me you were beautiful the last I saw you and I wonder what you would do with the blood on my hands see me be offensive to a transgression that is dissimilar to the idea of us? or kiss me? will you remember me when I go would you rather be the cadaver on my tongue shall we find a reversible point in time where I'm capable of believing you love me is that too much a thought to miss you over? -Milo Hove