Saturday, July 26, 2014


Her hair glistens as if made of gold
Not colored gold or as hard
But precious to touch or taste
She tastes bitter like perfume,
But I drink all of her in,
Weaving myself in her stands
Tying myself up with her so tight
I can’t escape, subject to whatever
whim she wears,
unable to taste anything
But what she feeds me,
Unable to breathe but what
She breathes into me
I wear her like a wig
Each strand binding me
Head, hip, lip and loin,
So I can move only when she moves
With each shimmering thread
Biting into me until I bleed her,
Each orifice oozing
As the bonds grew tight.

No comments:

Post a Comment