Drink me in,
Hydrate on the simple sights,
I know you have a thirst
Skin so pallid and dry
Let me wet your lips.

You got hunger pangs
I can hear the rumble,
Core disrupting crawling to the surface
Use that magma to touch me like a volcano
Dive into the abyss
Devour until I am crumbling.

You got needs,
I can see it in your glassy eyes
Pleading with a whimper,
It’s easy just to tease
With a simple coax of a finger
Come to me, come to me
Come for me…

“Good girl”

You want to confess,
So down on your knees,
Look upon your altar,
Praise the rosary when you roll your hands on me
Beg me to appease,
And we can play with your sins.

Do you like it in the dark
Paint your porcelain in neon shadows
Pinks and purples dancing off you
Trying to loosen the leather lined with fleece
Love when you’re in my cusp
Drink me in, beg me, please
Devour every moment spent,
Pray for release.

“Good girl”

You poured your breath like warm wine onto my skin,
And it seeped into every crack I had never shown you,
Until I was wet with something older than the wine.
Your fingers like long branches of hunger, touched me like a map you had burned before,
Tracing my neck down to the valley that experienced dips of gasps.
My mind was eclipsed by something black,
Not from fear, but from the depth of falling into something darker than sleep
And deeper than prayer.
Your lips poured ancient hymns into mine and took my aches with each kiss,
Until I lost myriad pieces of myself that were never meant to be kept.
Your hands gripped the curve of my hips and lifted me,
Not as a man lifts a woman, but as a storm lifts the sea,  
I was no longer mine, but just a wave offering surrender.
When your tongue descended to the tremble of my belly,
And found the silk between my thighs, I wept into your hair.
I arched to worship the moment when
I was fully seen, fully consumed, fully remembered.
Your dark eyes looked into the center of me in a way that made my shadows blush into redness.
It was the holy fire between two sinners who forgot to ask for forgiveness.
I gasped, I trembled, I vowed as each wave took a part of me to heaven.
Finally, the room melted into sound and salt, and you breathed again on my damp skin.
I laughed in the dark as you whispered, “How can love live in the heat of such ruin?”
Because this wasn’t ruin.
It was resurrection.

Well, you arrived at this place,
The light of day erased
With the neon’s red glow reflecting off your face.

She craves leather lined with fleece,
Her hands raised high,
Begging for release,

She craves leather with fleece,
Legs spread and dangling,
Honey pools flowing to the sheets,
In every crease and wrinkle, I see ravines.

She begs for pain
With pouted lips, and eyes that grin,
The flogger’s tendrils trace
The very curvature of her frame,
One slap against her breast,
A gasp as it reddens with a twinge,
She laughs back and then -
Another crash against milky skin,

Her petals bloom,
Parting with nectar drooling,
And the leather fingers trace the ridge,
A calm before the storm begins,
Tickling nerves like exciting crowds,
Riling up until the breath breathes loud,
She moans through her longing sounds,
And then the crash comes, to burn it down.

How she longs to feel
Something more, something real,
With the silicone breaching her opening,
Deflowering in her garden of sin,
She screams for more, screams for him,
Needs me more than she can bear,
Tells me where, and tells me when,
But this is just a game,

Her eyes roll back,
Her hips raise and thrash,
Legs shake and collapse,
Mind blank, a relapse,
As the screams quake
And reverb back,
She sees god in the aftermath,
As heat flushes over like a sunbath,
And the sweat beads cool,
As tongue expresses a need to lap
Water to replenish the rain that falls,
In her a waterfall,
Pulsating through it all…

She loves leather and fleece,
As she patiently drops,
Never wanting my release.

“Sometimes love is stronger than a man’s convictions.”*  
– Isaac Bashevis Singer


1.

There are wars, and rumors of wars—  
machineries, machinations  
of singular dark days,  

and clouds that hang  
like props above our city.  

We shut the windows,  
refuse to watch their play.  

Hungrily, we take refuge  
between each other’s legs.  

How comforting it is  
to love without armies,  
without tanks,  

without generals of reasoned love.

---

2.

There are wars, and rumors of wars—  
machineries, machinations  
of singular dark days.  

From the narrow street, they see us  
wrestling with an angel—  

the tug of limbs, the tangle of hair.  
You whisper low,  
your seditious talk of love—  

as my callused hands get caught  
in your low moaning—  

while I hold you down  
to the bed,  
my captive.  

The occupation has begun—  

your occupied body,  
my country of ardent prayers.

---

2.

There are wars—  
machineries, machinations  
of singular dark days.  

The soldiers are leaving for the front.  
Not us.  

We stay behind,  
to wage our war  
of tenderness.  

They leave this morning.  

Applaud their sad theater—  
the warships, the planes.  

Soon,  
letters will arrive  
without them.  

A few men will return—  
gaunt, less than before—  
with more silence,  
less dancing.  

And when they do,  
our war will have ended  
under a flag  
of white bed sheets.  

Only a little blood.  

Victorious,  
we’ll write love letters  
on each other’s bodies.

You unscrew the jar; Orion’s climactic sigh spills—  
A cello’s low A hums—our triad, C and E—the night skies.  
Your thumb caresses pulse down my throat, andante, it drills  
through myth—not his hunt, but the damp heat between our thighs.  

We’ve plucked Lyra’s rusted chords, restrung her spine  
to thrum with your breath, not some dead muse’s cords.  
Stars crack like old records; we skip, we refine—  
our bed, a cradle for light, shed our sheer white peignoirs.  

You fear the jars dim? Let me mouth the black core  
of Cassiopeia—choke her brittle groan,  
then laugh as you arch—my crescendo, your score—  
each note a plum’s burst where her language had flown.  

Your teeth score my shoulder. The dark soars, unconfined—
We swallow the arias. Let the void choke on mine.

I crave...

those fingertips around my throat
constricting my breath

your nylon ropes wrapped around my chest, arms and legs
constricting my movements to the bed

those succulet plump lips ******* and licking my flesh

while your sharp teeth nibble on my pale skin
from the tips of my toes to the base of my neck