The song that pulses wet through the veined blinds on your window – left open.
It is the fingers that trace the hollow of your neck, the lips that whisper: let them see.
Flesh on teeth on tongue to taste the salt-sweet sex
of another on top of the covers
the sheets ripped back, coiled tight around your thighs, tangled in silken serpents –
It is the Opening.
(The splitting of fruit down its center to expose
the seeded flesh underneath.)
It is to traverse the slick line between pleasure and pain, between rope and teeth,
between raw skin and raw soul, where the lines blur like heat waves under
the thighs of Desert Sun. Flicking tongues
and gnashing teeth, hands like claws –
they travel down to trace, to taste: to memorize.
Oh, how the pressure upon your neck feels curiously like Communion.
How the eyes that hunger upon your flesh feed you, fill you, spill you forth unto the dark.
Give from your body to witness the soul.
Honor this newfound pulse.
Reveal the animal under the flesh: Bare me your teeth and rise.