7.05.2013

For the Young Blades


Heavy-lidded, aren't we, 
My Friday morning damsels?

The young blades canter past
The dark window of a once-apothecary,
Eerie shadows of a hazy red bulb 
Cast upon the Asphodels of skin.

My arms are a pornography,
Oh so ever pure, and slender smooth,
My face rests on a strumpet's neck,
That begs for fingers, implements:

There is nothing so delectable
As virgin flesh. 

Yes darling one, put on a subtle pout,
Yes little bitch, half-close those bedroom eyes.
Whicker those palms like a horses chuckle:

The way my skin shivers -
Taut and plump with my hydration.
Languor running,
Manicured,
A single finger up and down
The muscle that embraces
My vulnerable throat.

The young blades canter past
The dark window, of a once-apothecary,
Eerie shadows of a hazy red bulb 
Cast upon the Asphodels of skin.

(Image by Anderson's All-Purpose)