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About a disloyal photographer who has serious commitment issues. However, it can really be about any disloyal individual in general.

Eye behind the camera, feeling like a sniper
as I get her Pandora lips centered in my sights.
Even though she's fully clothed, my eyes trace
the curves of her caramel breasts
with the precision of a razor,
like the ones we use in art school.

Hair like a geisha, collarbone like spread legs,
losing myself in her exquisite geography and geometry
as you tug my sleeve
and say that you love me.
I know we made love for the first time last week,
but you've become some shade of grey to me
like all the ash-dolls in my heart,
but I'll tell you what you want to hear.

But the truth is, my dear,
that I have a craving for exotic delicacies,
and I want to pick her from my teeth.
But my eyes are starting to bruise,
had the same nightmare again
last night after we fucked,
of a man strangling an anteater to death
with its own tongue.