Flesh Coloured Monsters

I come to you, with my arms stretched open and you peel my skin back from the bone and let the sun barbecue my flesh to a medium rare before you kiss it with your green tongue and tell me I am delicious on the inside and that you want me for yourself in this exact manner and that I don’t need seasoning or colour because rosiness is plenty.

I come to you, painfully conscious of this raw creature I am right now hoping you won’t singe me and poke holes in me with your bamboo stares and leviathan limbs that drug me into a trance I never want gone Your tea stained lips of perfection that you lickto arouse that little monster inside of me, that purring monster that only wants to be claimed and tamed and released from its chains.

I come to you, and you share with me your icy blue bubble that is both warm and refreshingLike a cinnamon stick on your tongue and down your luscious throatYou sit with me in the dark and draw these neon luminous triangles on my body and my arms and my chest and tell me I am made of the moon; waxing, waning and full A triskelion of female energy and that you want to be the melodic accompaniment to itMy swan song.

I come to you, and I’m coming home.

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