Your kiss is all the aphrodisiac
any guy could ever need;
your touch is like a healing serum,
yet through the night you make me bleed.
Your every word belies betrayal,
your every sigh a serpent’s hiss;
at every meet you move the boundaries,
where once I felt I couldn’t miss.
Our time together once was fresh,
it seemed our minds were joined as one;
yet now you turn away from me
as if our time were almost done.

Everything in your kiss reeks of necrophilia.

About Fles

Early middle-aged (oh yes I am!), no longer long-haired but still speccy and decidedly still an increasingly opinionated git. I’m basically a believer in individualism, that everybody has their own perspective and inner-beauty. I try to find humour in every situation. I enjoy reading and writing poetry.
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