It feeds on tears.
those empty eyes, and
sallow skin,
too smooth to trust,
cheeks in permanent “blush”
(ashamed by unquenchable lust?!)
red and bloated as corpse,
tilted smile just
because it must;
the embrace it seeks,
to draw you in,
more a spider’s web than
arms of a friend.
It feeds on tears.
Objects, and the Distance Between Them 