Beauty To The Point Of Pain


Bloody, smeared lip prints
Fresh wounds gaping
Deep and red and rich
As split pomegranates full and fine
There is pain in you
Your body is the pure scalpel
Cutting heart deep, bone deep
Peeling bright ribbons
To hold back the untamed of your hair
Lashes to bind to hips and belly and breasts
Your creature, carvings of your hand
Shaping each moan
Pulling at the spine, nerve endings hot wires
Slaves to your pretty, viscous mouth
Servant to the narrow liver distance
Between cruelty and beauty
Holding all of one body’s universe
Beneath dainty, dripping tongue
Streaked, red war paint run through with sweat
Every precious drop fire over raw, urgent gasping
Mumbles and fumbling, a writhing at your feat
A trembling between heated thighs
Pulling a beautiful, bloody arch
Described between your victim and crumpled soaked sheets
Lost to the gulf of release, strangled cries
Every fibre taut, straining, arrow shot
From the bow of you
A body spent, a burnt offering to your majesty
Oh, to be left such horrible, beautiful ruins
Upon the alter of you.

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One Response to “Beauty To The Point Of Pain”

  1. dent de cure bois Says:

    a master chef – makin’ weKnerz

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