- Erotic Poetry
- whore in metaphor
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If I trace these fingers along your body,
I want you to feel alive again.
And the thrusts to music will will remain
A memory of yesterdays lust.
Fatal corruption has left you unclean.
But I love being the dirty one,
With a rythmic sense of your fluids-
I'll slip into something black again.
I watch you from behind a ciggarette,
Still smelling you on fingertips-
The girl I made another shade of red,
Was my own undoing, she was yours.
Walk down stairs at night and bleed-
The remenants of me falling onto tiles.
I'm still laying with your chains,
Wishing you'd lost the key inside you.
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