Behave like a slave, like someone who needs
to be ruined, stretched then roughly controlled.
Behave depraved. Crave that you’ll get nosebleeds
when you think of me, of how I withhold
pleasure, like a dark ant-show that infests
your dreams, like my mom’s dead sister, putting
the aunt in haunt. Cock-block. My name suggests
mild bliss, but I’m plague, scourge to your longing,
taut ghost of nights to come. They have reviled
me, called me ruffian in rhapsodies …
and yet. Deep down they want to be defiled,
shockingly used, too … made Aphrodite’s
shockwave. Princess, we both know that a slave
knows how to rant, knows where rave falls in crave.