it's funny how
at a neon lit rendezvous
that alluring fever that used to warm your veins
can so diametrically reveal
as nothing more or less
than a sharp disguise of that horror black hole
that's been hunting to suck you in for years
with its manifold avatars,
like ribald voices,
lifeless figures
and the filthiest and most insidious of all,
that of artful tongues and skin warmth.