Fever Dreams

I feel at home in this
sleep-steeped sickness of
troubles
And this place reeks of
fustian delights
and pursuits of esoteric and ethereal
ideals.

You flicker under the lights
with the folds of your shirt
sliding upwards to display
a piece
of tantalizing flesh the world does
not
acknowledge
but that which I cannot possess
or caress
or own.

They melted away under the halogen lamps.
Don't speak too loudly or they'll return.
I'd hate to see them
especially after they burned.

I feel at home in this
fever-fucked fervor of
hatreds
And this place sweats out
primal desires
and pursuits of physical and earthly
ideals.

You flicker under the lights
with the words from your lips
floating forward to display
a piece
of tantalizing mind the world does
not
acknowledge
but that which I cannot return
or understand
or know.

They melted away under the halogen lamps.
Don't touch me here or they'll return.
I'd hate to see them
especially after they burned.

They're on their way.