Seared flesh —
Caramelized on the outside,
Leaving my center juicy and still bloody,
The blood pooling under the mass of glistening muscle,
Still throbbing and twitching.
Scored skin —
Cross-hatched in my lust,
Slicing into all of my lost senses,
Or an hour ago,
Or millennia ago,
Or not yet but soon.
Scarred sheath of hissing hot skin —
Marked in my carnal urges,
Inviting tooth and nail and tongue and groans,
And more devouring,
And slow slow savouring.
This edible parchment of mine is scratched
And seared and scored and scarred
In ink and blood
Not all mine
But yours too.
My succulent veins on skin paper
Waiting for your bone-cutting teeth
And sharp pen.
My blood burning lines across the pages of your chest,
Burning new whorls into the skin of your fingertips,
Pouring verse like cutting acid through your supple delectable flesh,
Cooking us up like a rapacious feast,
A feast of scorched words, crashed sentences, burnt pages and cannibalistic merging.
*** When you said you were a failure at being a vegan, you weren’t bullshitting, were you, Sugar Plum? ***
*** Nope. No B.S. My cravings for raw oysters and human flesh proved too strong to resist… alas…. ***
*** Honestly… it feels like I ate too much food tonight…. Not sure where any of this came from but what fun! ***