bright and deadly, the next few stanzas

It is too late for alarm
as I kiss your pouting lips
as my hands lay on your hips
that I ride to make the charm.

To embrace you and to taste
the cleft esssence of your need
to find someone who will feed
on your shame, so long misplaced.

I will enter you when bidden
and let loose to pierce your veil,
find your flesh, a text in braille
marked with all your passions, hidden.

Do you truly wish me end
in my suit to seize your soul
to perfect you in your role,
inamorata, bended friend?

(...and yet more...the vision comes in splinters of obsidian and jet...wet with blood and kisses)

William F. DeVault. all rights reserved