August 21, 2018

La Petite Mort—the Little Death. {Poem}

**Warning: some naughty language ahead!


I am covered in sand

But I do not want to wash your scent off my skin…


He says.


After we fuck under palm trees and a star-crossed sky

My weak resolve stands no chance

Against his strong kisses atop my carotid artery


Any second it feels like he’ll break the skin

Let me bleed out

In waves

In his arms


Or is it orgasm?


Right now I cannot say

But do I even need to?


The Little Death


Say the French

I believe they are right


Tonight I died six times atop the cock of a foreign man.


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