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Literature
I Can't Devour You, Not Yet
I Can't Devour You, Not Yet:
I long to taste the sweetness of your flesh,
To roll your meat between my tongue and teeth.
So many times have I come - so close -
To taking that first bite from your neck.
Yet, there is something about you,
A scent perhaps or a sickly sap.
It turns bitter upon my tongue,
Poisoning it; I am left unable to eat...
Much like the caterpillar, covered in spines,
Each bite would spew only bitter venom -
Numbing my senses and dulling the mind;
It would leave me naught but a gormless wreck!
Even so, despite me knowing of the repugnant taste,
I am drawn toward you, like a moth to the flame.
May my wings crum
Literature
Lust
His hands have a habit of finding my hip bones,
trailing his river like fingers along my stone smooth skin,
his lips do not move, his mouth tells me stories.
Mine spend their time
tracing the length and breadth
of his back in kisses*
We travel through lands that never existed
before we touched them
At temperatures far exceeding in Fahrenheit
If only we could understand
how lust and geography
make such divinely sinful bedmates.
____________________
* One hundred and sixteen
Literature
I'm Not the Marrying Kind
I'm not the marrying kind.
I have stones in my hair instead of flowers,
And a rosebush of thorns is more poignant to me.
I'm not the marrying kind.
My words aren't pretty or wise,
And I can't sing about anything but a broken heart.
I'm not the marrying kind.
I am the sort of damaged you see in an old recorder,
And the kind of old in an instrument that breaks into a billion pieces at a touch.
I'm not the marrying kind.
Neither neat, nor tidy, nor correct in my behavior,
And yes, I did in fact tell you to fuck yourself.
I'm not the marrying kind.R
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Fabulous job