Your pants came off first.

Slipped beneath the breadth of you- a skin removed and wrought-out;
leaked and flaked of yourself before you could come full-circle.
His hands crawled- raped inches of you while fingertips sang to the fabric- charming clothing
off your body.

Your shirt came next.

Your chest awake and stirring- ripped open- flower-print became nothing more than woven weeds:
a garment to be stained with moonlight.

And your feet, they were shaking, as he tucked himself between
your white cotton panties- the ones that still fit;
created a crown of band and unholy thorns for you to


yourself through.
And they hugged your waist- but moved and shifted when he entered you-
when his finger tangled itself among your folds-
got lost somewhere inside your purities.

He stole the noise from your throat-
reverberating around the room in an epheremal
bond. And he sucked the pleasure from your tongue,
became yours.

Became you.