spurious incantation

I play some sounds while you sleep,
a rhythmic tantra vibrates from my mouth
an electric coil as a tongue, it rips me from my very essence into yours

attempt to seize yourself, as you froth from the mouth
the abstraction of the self-
a myriad of congenial faces, warped to distract

to not be mistaken, it is not hypnosis of the mind, too simple-
I would rather see your heart pulsate outside your body and in my hand
dripping ego down my bent wrist