Shoot it if it rhymes

No Thanks

Not for me,
the half-imagined whiff
of a comforting breath.
Not for me, concern gift-wrapped
with a bright satin bow.
Not for me,
the safety of installments.

Come to me with all the tact
of a baby gorging on a breast.
Come to me with all the restraint
of the rain racing to wet the earth.
Pick my brains
shred my skull
devour my guts like warm brown sausages
and pound my blood to crimson your forehead.

If you don’t feel like it,
please,
vanish now.