Hell and Sex Sounds

To just shrink away
out of your
mass churched periphery,
hide in a soft
tender touch,
martyr I was,
to your scent,
I felt the world
grow dim and daft,
spring fever came
dragging me by
the long hairs
on the top of my silly head,
slurping thick cum
oozing out of  hard cocks,
wet tongues,
towards one more
bloody pill
that kept you
sputtering out odes
and quick secrets,
rushing out of your mouth
on my skin,
all in one breath,
that you forgot
you had told me,
in the morning,
and I wasn’t going
to discuss it further,
even if you bent your
face into my deep pussy
and begged,
with light sucks and whispers
into my womb,
fucked up phantoms
to synthetic beats,
all I seemed to be able
to do was shut down,
breathe deeply,
close my eyes
to the horrors
hunted down and
displayed in the circus tent,
the stage set,
solo for that weeping reaper,
only the rain could save us
and even she felt dirty,
and her battered dolls,
caterpillar and madhatter
wrathed at the sight,
in silent sex tones
and laughter. 

No comments:

Post a Comment