Consume
Lip-sheathed bites
disguised as kisses.
Less than tender.
They peck and worry
your soft-spot want.
Behind your left ear,
perfume allergy sting.
Queasy lust itches
for long fingernails.
A rash fevers up red.
Breakable epidermis.
Blood jumping to run.
So near the surface.
It clamours. Shrieks
for his teeth’s release.
You do dark so well, Holly. Loved this.
I like the dark…
The joys of biting (and causing allergies)!
Yeah, I was trying to think of the desire as being like a disease or some kind of sickness. May come back to that thought…
Bon appétit!
There used to be an advert years ago (I think it might have been for a brand of peanuts) with the jingle “you never will know when the nibbles will strike”…
be still my pounding heat!!
and that isn’t a misprint
Freudian…
But I hear you Willow!
Love this little gnash of a poem, Holly
That’s a nice way of putting it Martin. Thank you.
hahahahahahhahah! OMG it must of been a Freudian slip!