The Song of the Albino Brain-Wolf

I am drying
strapped for plasma
reaching for transparent succour
reaching for the dripping from the pregnant leaking blood-fruit
that blooms
straggly and innocent
in the soil of the hollow
that sags behind your eyes

Soon I shall lick
in and through your nostrils
soon my tongue will penetrate
your thwarted blighted plans
soon my tongue will stagnate
in the pool of your discomfort
then gulp things into me
and spit red cells
discarded to the earth

(Wherever I go, the ground is blood-litter)

All I want from you is colourless
I crave the sallow lack of real distinction of your brain
I need to catch the silent anti-howl that crawls within you
and reach your hiding soul where it is convented by silence
where soon it will be tooth-licked by the prying of my malice
and neutralised
and swallowed
and digested
and converted
to me
and to mine

I need to hide in you
your blandness is the thicket that conceals my lusted greed

I need your emptiness
and soon I shall have it
vacuous victim
prepare to meet your soul-mate