A drop of you falls from
my left canine tooth
and my tongue receives
its biggest rush.
It comes to mind that
maybe it is not lipstick
that stains my mouth
crimson after all.
As I look down upon you
squirming in your own
personal cherry colored
body paint,
I can barely hold in
a wicked giggle.
I’m not sure if I prefer
the click-clack of my
high heels on the
now contaminated tiles,
or your screams.
Don’t worry,
I’ll lock the door behind me.