A/N: Old! Turn back!
I am Iron Man.
With fingers like
sheet-metal silos, I grope for your radiance,
which only shatters around me
like prismatic fireflies.
Uncoordinated and
awkward.
You must see
the way desire bleeds from my eyes
twisting down my face in tear-rivers;
a cocktail of rust and sorrow-black napalm.
Like a trillion gallons of acid,
consumed with the utmost purity.
Somehow I know
that skin – unalloyed, porcelain skin –
and this oxidized shell, pulsating a dusty red
that comes away in cigarette smoke clouds can
never coalesce.
A metal titan in every way but this.
Your eyes are like a
foundry, molding my decaying corpse into
a homogeneous mixture, igniting my fervor,
my craving like crumpled scraps of newspaper.
Your existence, your glass blossom permanence
reminds me that
I am an iron man.

but two.