A garden of petals trail behind you

as you move to sweep me off my feet.

But I’m not made of air tonight.

I’m armed and dangerous

looking for a worthy gladiator

to mount the swells of passion.

Leave your refinements at the door.

and sweep away the debris of crimson petals.

Savage my lips until they are as vivid as redwings.

Scavenge my flushed thighs glistening beneath you.

.

Do not speak of tenderness—in fact

do not speak at all. 

Show me your passport singed with carnal musk

so that we can enter a room where our bed

burns blue as an anvil’s edge.

Splay me on the table against the azure wainscoting.

Our language is tongue and groove,

which I learn with each stroke of your cock.

We are both raw and fearless and cruel;

both taken and used.

I am an acrobat seeking a tight wire act. 

I wrap my legs around you like swaddling strips

unjointed and unhemmed.  Rise up to meet me and I

will be there waiting at the arc’s pinnacle seeking release.

No light caresses tonight.

No sweet embraces.

Take your scalpel and undress my flesh

so I can close my eyes and own you.

Be a little afraid, as one hand drips with sweat and sperm,

the other knuckled fist is hidden in lava.

Listen closely and you’ll hear friction’s passion

frisson rising from electrified nerve endings.

And do not speak at all.