I see the bruises from our play
have faded from your body yet
I wonder often how your soul
endures, no thrives, the torment of
your smooth delicious skin.

Oh succubus of sinful sweet
surrender gazing up with eyes
of cobalt catastrophically
inclined to pull from me the heat
of yet another stroke.

There is some power kindled here
that speaks of love or maybe life
primeval bound together hand
in golden hair with teeth and tongue
embracing shivered flesh.

Then coming home with sick delight
in writhing chambers rocked with blasts
of scarlet red explosions marked
by silent screaming echoes of
delight and terror mixed.

Within the quiet space between
I feel your wicked spirit's touch
forgiving battered tresspassed flesh
while quietly my eyes find yours
and in them read my doom.