There was violence in her nostrils
and her words, like talons, mauled my ego.
Adorned in fury and draped in scorn,
her regalia scented with stale words and broken promises.
Remorse and regret were her jewelry
and she suffered great expense.
Damned am I.
For her opulence is my death.
Damned, damned am I.
To have created that which will devour me.

Silent Conversations

Our lips collide, necessary and sure.
Two planets careening,
as violently as clouds passing by.

She takes my bottom lip between her teeth
and I let her feast.
She is ravenous and only I can satiate her.

Her hips and butt beg for guidance;
so I oblige, and master her geography
with my palms and fingers.