Red, flushed lips and
green, lush eyes,
my pearly white teeth
and ripe, wet licks:

we're ready to strike
with soft, sweet bites,
the slow, great pressure
will break your ****

and you'll flow into me.

But soon, the gray will come and
I
will be lost in its fog,
and you,
well,
you better **** yourself
back in
and run

before you, too,
come near to drowning
on my chemical sadness.



It always happens soon after;
my burgundy heart
suckles on passion
and returns to its crimson ways,

and all I'll want to do
is play.

If you think you can wait.