may i draw you into a hug,

hold you close, my puzzle piece,
and send you tumbling down a flight of stairs?
          a little birdie has indeed deemed me push-down-a-flight-of-stairs-able—you flatter me,

                                                                                                                                                                            honey.
incise your dilated capillaries,
sip your blood as it seeps through your skin,

and regurgitate my stomach's contents onto your lifeless form?
          you're not some vampire, so iron poisoning isn't your cup of tea? ever the pragmatist,

                                                                                                                                                                          darling.
encircle your pretty waist in my arms,

rest my chin upon your shoulder,

puncture your abdomen,

and eat your ribs?
                                           there would be several steps between those last two, dearest. you're
                                                                                                                                                      simplifying here.
murder your priorities,

hook a finger under your jaw,

tilt your head up to meet my gaze,

and bisect your skull with a chainsaw?
                              vertically, preferably-you wouldn't be so psychopathic as to do it horizontally.

 

guillotine you,
submerge your severed head in acid,

study it fondly as your soft flesh deliquesces,

and lovingly hot-glue your skull to my bedroom door?
                                   i would rather you keep this lovely face untouched, but i do appreciate the
                                                                                                                                                                      sentiment.
shred your homework to confetti,

douse your laptop and heart in kerosene,
and set the two aflame in true fahrenheit-451 fashion?
                                             to be fair, wouldn't my heart go out in a blaze of glory for you, anyway?

 

adorn your sweet coffin
with a heart's-content's worth of papier-mâché-
soulful facsimiles of the letter you once shyly slipped into my coat pocket?

                                      tenderly penned, pretzeled into paper cranes—your wish is my command,
                                                                                                                                                                     sweetheart.
prise open the accessorised lid,

fling the rest of your remains inside.
                                                            i'll take that with a side of reverently-placed fake roses, actually.
and leave your casket open

to toss into the atlantic ocean.
                                                                                                                                                                     that rhymes.