I always made love to him with clothes on.
safety intertwined in the fabric of heat.
a forecast unknown—would it rain
{or} would it snow.
“our” dreams left exposed.
And he began to dip my heart in fondue.
eating away my defenses like
Hannibal Lector- receding only
to chew.
Tasting pain wrapped in the static of beats.
seconds. moments. he plunged so deep.
as I thirst for his words to
tongue tie my wrists.
And his lips to lacerate edges that twist-
forming sexu-ality. taming
spiritu-ality. until I ached
to pray {only to him}.
© 2007 Mylissa
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Printed from www.DarkPoetry.com/dp/10435/94848 on Saturday August 30th, 2008 09:01 AM
Certain elements © 1996-2008 Matthew Steven (matts.org)
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