Would you reconsider flesh
of mine
to grace that warm exquisite folding
(cursed upon the monthly moon
that lines the inner you with blood)
in synchrony atop the shaking
making love
Are we not a house of mansions?
I’d swallow your presence
assimilate anew
another woman
just for me
to see you through
should inner shards of reconsideration
dare to claim denial
I’ll be your path to trial:
in isolation
primed
for cold obliteration
You would not dare
for after all
I know you care
about your arrogance –
the weight of breast
BULGING –
prideful glands
that seek out the male promontories
up to raise their temperature
You are the ruins
in naked fall
you must
recall
Pull in your legs
and be prepared;
I shan’t deny
You have to die
And how I’ll cry
For THEM!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2013
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem