A Serpents Sweet Thoughts Poem by Jorge Alexandre

Oh, sweet chills,
Serpentine slime downing me;
Drowning me,
Still.

It slithers,
A silent 's' cuffed in every word,
Every slight forgotten memory.

The serpent's choice,
From hanging on the ceiling,
To my neck.

Both having,
Possible goals of dread.

Both being chosen,
Once every month,
By the serpentine head.

Thrice it loops,
Tightening my breath,
Like a bow tie,
Incorrectly laced.

And like a hand to hot water,
In reverse, I do the same.

Kicking back the chair,
Hanging from the chain,
Of interlocking rope and lace.

Sweet thoughts,
Of the insane.