Riposte

I am wild with cosmic hallucinations.
Someone is in my cards, reading me back.
The spread is laughing toward
dripping mausoleums,
talking to me in mad riddles,
which I assume are mine because everything
is mine and
for me.
They attack me,
springing in lustrous succession
into my opal pores,
with star-shined claws,
and moonstone teeth.
Eloquent gashes crack porcelain thighs.
Open and close your mouth
for me to hide inside,
on the deepening firelight of your tongue,
bathing in your venom and
drinking from poison wells,
and empty wine bottles.
Want is good;
but it is not enough.
Be warned, vicious scoundrel,
it is never enough.
You have,
clenched in your jaws,
insatiability endless.
Clothed in gleaming hides;
in priestess mirrors.
Do I have you to blame
for the clusters of mania
glaring down at me
from the four corners?
I try to escape the whirlwind,
but it has faces.
And it wears your mouth,
where I live and breath
in allied amusement.