Verbal Stains

Should I conquer you in slow steps

Or a swift stroke of metal suffice?

You are my muse and my sculpture,

The reason of dried blood on my back.

The lines of passions drawn

By your pale hungry nails,

And mistress to an artist above you.

It is my intention to have you

By sleight of hand or otherwise,

Any means possible or even contrary.

I am waging a war on my own self

Unnecessarily to have you at once.

I know it can be easily avoided

For you are not worth a pittance.

However word uttered from my lips

Carries both clout and concealment.

So tell me my dearest

Would you like to come in pieces

Or should I order a king sized bed?

Priestess

I will come to love you
Without reasons or annotations;
The corners of our pages
Folded as if in prayer.

I will suck the pleasure
From your toes;
My tongue, your hostess
For the evening.

I will write notes of love
On your bare back;
My palms steady
In the rhythm of our pace.

I will lose language
To communicate:
My body broken
By your love.

I will plant kisses
With aching gentleness:
Your moist secrets
Quivering like a bow.

I will quench us both
An oasis in sand;
My hands cupping
The folds of your flesh.

I will break your will
To restraint and to shy;
Awaken the desire
To be violently consumed.

I will come to love you
Without reasons or annotations;
A long dark shadow of the night
Inconsolable with your want.