I want to feel your teeth
In my neck, skin,
Clutching fresh, and gnawing,
Peeling, breaking lips.
Leering, searing, seeing, feeling
And I yielding.
Like the dead, crumbling in.
Body of the grave, that rots,
Petrifies and falls in.
Soil that composts and blackens nail
-scratching-
And tastes rich and molten,
Like that single rushing vein
I feel pulsing.
Rhythmic and sure,
Such as he who plies and upheaves
The fields for varnished wooden
Boxes laden with waiting
Corpses, who listen as he pants.
Body to body
Purple branding
Aching as time pass
And littering, exposed
Both muscle and fat,
Naked and tender
Like a baby, just born.