erotic poetry, frenzies, greased, i'm spilling more thank ink y'all, our sex life's soundtrack, sated, sonnet, upsurge of bed sheet
High seas, indeed. The upsurge of bed sheet.
Curling ripple in the quilt. You hand back
the bong to giggle, “I can’t feel my feet.”
If there’s a theme to our sex life’s soundtrack
it’s that feeding frenzies are addictive.
I’m the shark that broke your surface, mouthful
of your menstrual blood. “Harder, I can’t live
without your teeth in me,” you slur. I pull
you down, gulp you down, until you drown, pleased.
It took years of frightful sex to find each
other. I don’t miss that. I was famished
searching for you. Now I’m sated –– your greased
inner muscles squeeze my tongue. Your stoned speech
slurs. You’re all Seven Seas that I’ve ravished.