Monday, February 16, 2009

How do I kill thee, let me count the ways...

Your beautiful eyes
They’re shut, locked from light
Shunned from weariness
I sat there, still
Admiring the contour of your neck
Contemplating the various homicidal methods
To put all this, and
Ultimately you
To rest, preferably in gore

Your shapely bosom
Press against the wooden edge
As your velvety hair glissade down your flawless shoulder
Tilted curves greeting the toasts, eggs, and bacons
Are they the same ones clutched in his palms?
Squashed by his blushing prints
As you moaned and squelched
He grunted, my teeth grind
Shuttered windows

Your lips gasp
With pleasure of stiff thrusting
As your ivory nails plunge, screech across
His sly behind, burrowing under
Our tainted sheets, bullet drops
Sweat infiltrating the linens, I stood
Huffing the stench
Of this hussy they call a wife

These veined toned arms
Staunchly grab, fluffy pillow at
Our bedside where you lie
Pushes it, sealing your almond face
Your curvaceous figure convulses
And convulses, convulses
Life stifling out of these wanton mounts
As your toes incurvate for one last time
But not as climactic, I suppose