A bitter sweet kiss, softly malign,
lips murmuring with Aconite warmed breath.
You tell me rejection is good for one’s heart and soul.
Oh my sweet, these hands are but a figment
of torturous fantasy, real in thought. You say to me.
Each kiss growing gently wicked, urgent with need.
Love and thirst the idea of me, yearn
the reminisce of a spineless drum beneath your palm.
You tell me use is but all which it is.
Never, never let free searching eyes
replace my elusive essence with another male in hunger.
Lips weaving, kneading, delicately crazed in malice.
You are mine, I grant your ravenous ends of padded flesh
no permission to impress themselves upon my notional skin.
You tell me, thinking submission plagues my mind.
Can you no longer feel my taste upon your tongue?
Have your hands become cold, yet burn in anguish?
Is that why your tart kiss has become so insistent with fear?
you told me, rejection is good for one’s heart and soul.