You’re A Hungry Slut

A Poem

My Photo

Call me your hungry slut
and I’ll allow it

this word only allowed when
wielded like a fruit of knowledge

let me eat it and realize I become naked
taste the juices and have them transfer

to the tomb of me
be buried in this womb

and be reborn after
sex is called the little death.

Un petit mort
crawls off a curious tongue.

I want to die in this climax
heart stampedes, and it

pleases you to hear this excitement
to feel my claws set into

your back and give you more
scores of scars showing

you did battle with a minx
who can transform

from dominant
to submissive

from hard marble
to the soft underbelly

pliable pieces you pull
from inside me

how do I taste?
Honeysuckle dreams