The moon is a demon
your mouth is a sink
slurping up my words and my ink
desire spills out like semen
brain beating so loud I can’t think
the stars are pinholes in stockings
it’s called research, not stalking
I might miss something if I blink
The walls are the whale’s stomach lining
The sunrise a declaration of war
The trick is in the timing
I don’t remember what you said
but I remember what you wore
nicotine pixie, morphine whore
The storm cell is a sacrament
lightning sparks baptismal fire
My body is sore, my soul is abstinent
I sink to get higher
The imagery in your poem is strong, and I loved the first three lines. I feel like your relationship with the subject got a little lost after that point? Maybe adding a couple lines to clarify could help? Overall I do really like this piece.