you feel predatory tonight.
when you see her shining skin
you want to feast upon her
as though she is
a faintly perfumed banquet
and you
are the worthy connoisseur.

you want to absorb
her psyche
and devour her flesh
and press her into you
as though you would never
in a million years
release her into the sky.

she is evasive and afraid
but you smell her fear
and it excites you
like the rich, delicious
scent of sex
and you are breathing in
her tattooed aura.

the tiny bones of her spine,
how many are there?
you feel them pushing into
the wall behind her
just as you feel her ribs
pressing invitingly
into yours.

her body seems so small
and weak
as you hold her captive.
you feel her snap in pain
like a trembling flower
bowing under the power
of the oppressor's foot.

but you don't care,
you can't care.
you love her as she is,
every fiber of agony,
every spilled drop of blood,
every torn thread,
every dead strand of hair.

you thrill
at her crumpled form
and grasp at her fingers
when her hand clutches
at you, the enemy,
the assassin,
for help, for support.

clearly she hopes for
malignant pity in you
but she doesn't know
that you feel nothing
but want and dreams
and sadistic love,
and that her pain is yours.

tomorrow there will be
bruises on her back
and on her lifeless neck
and you will have bags
beneath your drooping eyes,
creakings in your tired bones.

but these few moments
of sacrifice and ecstacy,
oh, so delicious,
and your lips crave every
last taste of her tortured soul
that you can claim,
every whispered plea.

your dirty soul
cries for her.