Nychtemeron

consumers
      of cold sunrises
                      we force our lust
               of warm sunsets.

 tangled
    I keep slipping 
       in my own coat out of which
     weapons tend to drop.

you,
  ravenous of my venom,
     pick them up tenderly hoping
    to find them bare.

     how tragically 
         hilarious lights 
                     your hunger for my
           anesthetized extinctions!