My blood from her fingernails,
I savour the taste -
How passionately did she leave
Those blazing trails down my back,
Mewling so delectably
As I laid my hand upon her throat.
So tantalisingly did she beg,
And - finally - I obliged...
A fistful of that raven hair,
The night was ours, as was
The dawn and the morrow;
As was a taste of Heaven, of nirvana -
A taste I found
Between her legs, the heavenly choir
Within her zealous cries.
White sheets: my angel's robes,
Pulled from the corners of the mattress,
Now clenched in her fists,
Ensnaring those trembling legs.
It is my pleasure to set her free,
My dove, to give her that sweet release.
There is nowhere better to be,
To live, nor to die,
Than astride her, beneath her,
Beside her;
Breathing her in, experiencing heaven
Once again
With each inhalation, each movement,
Every ravenous touch and divine taste -
She is my ambrosia, my beloved,
Both a goddess and my worshipper,
She is my pleasure and my pain,
For I consider them one and the same.
How grateful I am
That she is the serpent, the apple and
The deity;
That I can have it all -
Every last sin, the opportunity to savour her,
And be enraptured in return.
How sweet does heaven taste
When it is running down her legs,
Besmirching the angel's robes,
Upon my body, my lips,
Slick upon my fingers;
If this is not reward enough, the vibrance,
Radiance, of her eyes
Is a wonder, overshadowed only
By the insatiable nature of our appetites -
That place we reach
Is where we seek to live; it is ours,
Rich with sweet delicacies,
Enticing, ever calling our names.
When the goddess requires
That the sacraments ought to be performed,
Who am I to refuse?
YOU ARE READING
Refraction.
PoetrySo many aspects, colours and themes make up our experiences. Truly, is anything entirely good or entirely bad? Upon weighing up the positives and negatives of the past, do we not admit that even tragedy is- in a twisted sort of way- advantageous? O...
