Tags
Babylon Crashing, erotic, patchwork, quote unquote, reblog, sonnet
You’ve made a fetish doll from me. From spit
and stains, from my hair and nails. When you said:
— “I want the moon on my tongue, now give it
up to me” — You knew that, when pricked, I bled
pale light; that when, hung, suspended, drugged to
my toes, you could taste how to fly on my
skin. You say it’s about conjure, that you
can drain me, just like that. But I defy
that limp rag. You can suck patchwork veins
all day long and you still won’t get it. Moon
light is a distortion of what we want
inside. All the stolen pubes and cum stains
in the world won’t save you, it’s why you’ll soon
come back to me: hungry, hollowed eyed, gaunt.