sometimes no work of poetry or art can describe
a feeling of just simply wanting to say*
*******

to know your skin
is to know the turmoil of creation
you are the visceral
the primal roar
urging its way out

i will shape you
mold you out of sand
draw your pleasure out
and ruin your salvation

you've given me a taste
so now i'll sniff out your blood
and crawl my way over
and snarl and scratch at you
and feast on your flesh

Giving up,
giving in
& going down
hard.

On the gas.

Oh you know,
not giving a ****
&
flying down the free way.
Like a bad *****.

Till I crash
back
into your arms.

The race is over.