Though man seeds no milk
she feeds upon my breast,
gluttony sustaining upon my
being and I am irrigated.

She is subtle on her needs
gently massaging me into
subjugation and I wilfully
rest upon her jagged shoulders.

I am a depleted image that is
fading with the contemplation
that I am but a vessel of her heeding
and soon I will be a husk of silence.

But in tainted milks there is thoughts
of freedom, that stigmata on her
yearnings and sour aromas now tainting
her hold over my essence now screaming.

I was her substance, now I am desecrated
shell of near nothingness. But I'm wilful
of her disposition and she is fading upon
the lilies of waters that drown her needing.

She is drowning in ill thoughts wanting to
devour my being, but I am a new blossom
and she is that which has fallen a leaf of
decayed time and I am now a free flower.