The Leopard of Sadhu

Disgust in lust

Your tongue to the side leaves an opening for mine
so I'll attack it so you can take my spit before
you change your mind. But when your elbows reach
just above your eyes your wrists become clasped
behind your head and you are mine. It's cute
that you smile with closed, pursed lips because
now I can create all that I will and believe
me my dolly, I will.

Your tears taste terrible they do not reflect your
body's image of a decent diet, rather this decent
figure had come so naturally to you and this makes the
cringing taste of you that much sweeter for every
piece of you that I force out of you will be
forever missed by you and at every reminiscent
thought of it, I will be there.

Your sweat sears the air around us and it won't be
long until we can't see, so you lace your fingers
around mine when I make sure your binds are
still and you don't let go because you can see
inside my mind. You don't let go and I can't
adjust and before you disappear into the fog
a reddening fright streams from mine to my ears.
You fight, but you are no longer singular. If I
want it, I must take it. So I will.

Your piss is every where it almost overwhelms the
slickness of you. The ammonia grinding between us boils
up the dirt of the day -or previous night or whatever
time we happen to find ourselves in- and eventually wipes onto
the semenized sheets or snots up on our slickenized,
pissy flesh. That yellow dress was so nice it's a shame
you let me see ups. But even long before you did,
a look you gave me said you will. So I did.

Your hair is everywhere and when we bust open
the windows we can begin to see again and most
of it is matted onto me, pieces of you here and
pieces of me there there and as you find yourself
self freed from the clasps your elbows rise higher
and you cry harder and our sweat pours more
and your piss collides against mine and I do
not have to tell you it will be some time before
we can begin to try to find our minds again.
Although I assure you my dolly, we won't.