Saturday, September 10, 2011

Verbal Stains

Should I conquer you in slow steps
Or a swift stroke of metal suffice?
You are my muse and my sculpture,
The reason of dried blood on my back.
The lines of passions drawn
By your pale hungry nails,
And mistress to an artist above you.
It is my intention to have you
By sleight of hand or otherwise,
Any means possible or even contrary.
I am waging a war on my own self
Unnecessarily to have you at once.
I know it can be easily avoided
For you are not worth a pittance.
However word uttered from my lips
Carries both clout and concealment.
So tell me my dearest
Would you like to come in pieces
Or should I order a king sized bed?


I will come to love you
Without reasons or annotations;
The corners of our pages
Folded as if in prayer.

I will suck the pleasure
From your toes;
My tongue, your hostess
For the evening.

I will write notes of love
On your bare back;
My palms steady
In the rhythm of our pace.

I will lose language
To communicate:
My body broken
By your love.

I will plant kisses
With aching gentleness:
Your moist secrets
Quivering like a bow.

I will quench us both
An oasis in sand;
My hands cupping
The folds of your flesh.

I will break your will
To restraint and to shy;
Awaken the desire
To be violently consumed.

I will come to love you
Without reasons or annotations;
A long dark shadow of the night
Inconsolable with your want.