There's a voice inside my head
(liar; flick'ring, sliver-tongued serpent)
which tells me to pursue, pursue--
capture, intrude, defeat--
but I ignore him.

Instead, I choose
to lavish upon you--
instead, I elect
to lock gazes with you,
communicate some torrid message
of communicable autocorruption
(sparks betwixt irises brown, blue--)
I want to share experience with you.

Nothing left to extrude.