We ****.
I brushed her hair just
the other day
and left stinging
handprints on her
eager flesh like she
loves.
Loved her in an
undertow of
blankets and throes,
fullness and
folds
until the drums
pounded in my
ears and
the adrenaline
burned.
On altars,
in tombs,
the sabbats,
esbats and
moons.
We slap
each other
for fun;
she listens
when I tell
her to
.
I'm sure you and
your mate do just
fine,
but
we **** better
than all of you
combined.
This poem is about ****** *******.