Tags
cloister, cock-skunk, cunnilingus, erotic poetry, false saint, Lilith's clit, poem, so it's come to this, sonnet
If I do, what then? True, I’m a false saint
of sluice, of vacant stares, of these pain-drenched
bones that will heal your ills. Touch my pink taint
with your blue-ebony hue. Touch what quenched
you when I bent you double, flipped up your skirt
and ran my tongue down your cunt. Devotion
is for the upright. Why pray when you squirt
and flow just as hard on the floor? My fun,
my bad, my grace. Don’t trust me; my deceit
goes all cock-skunk in a cloister. Go pray,
be chaste. It’s just your soul at stake, princess,
pith and marrow. I’m damned like Lilith’s clit,
like your clit if you come to me and say,
“Save me,” if I nod: “So, it’s come to this.”