You carefully destroyed me

Uncovered the most tender parts of my core with detective kit compliments

Places where I never let anyone feed.

You gnawed on the clitoral soul that I thought I buried years ago

Until I lay sprawled beneath you, no pulse.

Necrophiliacs like us best when we cannot match their heaving breaths

Or reach out to wipe the sweat off their brow, induced from fear of poor performance.

How unfortunate for you that I am an empty casket.

Accustomed to cremation, I turned to ashes upon your final assault.

Try to grasp me again, I’ll slip through your fingers.

There isn’t an urn strong enough to keep a woman condensed