And Bite Her Neck

 

She growled like a mean winter in the Winds
like a Cinderella canine
like a loose wolf loose with bent pagan corpse
not her morals
ripping at my exposed
lording the lengths of my torn flesh
in her mouth proud princess speaks somber poetry
the last parts of me melt on her chin
she nips like a cub
she hungers like a shark
hovering pale prism over the milk
dead gnats
etched glass bowl of kitchen light
she won't riot
too frightened
two pink legs spread under the bath water
turquoise orgasms
two dirty tooth brushes in the coffee mug
in ceramic overture
a dirty secret
a crucifixion

because no one would chase her in the woods
because no one would pull at her clothes

and bite her neck.

TA

(painting by Jean-Joseph Weerts)