Melancholia

I’m really into melancholy lately.

I fall into it like warm laundry.

Seeping into my blood like hot water and cocaine. 

Finger on the drain, 

loosely. 

Hands gripping the tawny mane,

thighs sweat along its ribs, velvet insane. 

It’s a torched blade through numb air,

I’ve a flair

for despair.