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.