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.