he tells you he loves you

and you have to believe him.

because if he didn't you wouldn't be here.

you wouldn't let him inside you like this.

the beast is risen in a lonely church parking lot, between the sighs of hunger, 

not quite human.

you tell yourself he tastes like redemption 

and he does,

and you taste him on your lips,

your ribcage bloated 

with empty promises.

he paints the inside of your eyelids 

yellow as the autumn leaves,

and his tongue drips ochre 

down your spine

while you stare out 

sweaty windows,

catching glimpses of 

streetlights and 

october stars.