12.

Here in my contours lays the guarantee on
all fours, struggling for breath, its chest
bleeding sweat, we didn't know.

Here in my violet, our tango lays quiet, sipping
stale water where the music disappeared,
quite queer, we've misplaced the volume.

Where in your silver, the impetus draws
nearer, sloshing through the bloodsweat quiet,
heading home.