Dark love: filling your throat up to the balls.
This, too, is romance. Hands pulling, clenched in
your hair. Call it rough. Call it crude. Fuck-dolls
and archangels whimper at our work. Sin,
good and proper, they’d call this. Cum and drool
cascade down your chin. You grin. I trust you.
You trust me. Other love lives are cesspools
of hurt. To spread your ass wide. To corkscrew
into you with head thrown back, with throat bared.
Others moan of lives lived without passion
but you quiver when that word is uttered.
You’ve taken what nirvana offered.
Suffused with such dark love our souls open,
reverberate with wonder — we’re well paired.