Adjust your grip

Come, sweet soul,

sit next to me,

the edge of my bed has been

waiting.

Take off your disguise,

unclothe your ribs holding you back.

I know we're both dreaming of

the taste of afterlife.

Sharp and sweet,

and carnal

like licking honey off a blade.

Come, adjust your grip.

Land your hand on my throat,

feel the hot pulsing

of my overflow—

choking the life

out of me.

Burn your kisses against

every vertebra

under my dew dripping,

smoking skin.

Where my knees are bruised,

dedicated

to my lovers.

Grab my butt

and turn me 'round,

fill the void

in my hollow soul,

just a minute longer.

One more minute longer.

And I let you,

with mouth resting open,

tongue tasting

your smoky fingers.

Fill up my throat

with your loving,

primal—

until your eyes roll back into your skull.