Love in Hexasyllables XVII: Ruddy
Your nails rake carelessly
Across mahogany,
Marking it as your own
Even as you strip off
The fresh lacquer. I flinch,
Imagining my flesh
Being flayed by polished
Cuticles, rivulets
Of crimson flowing down
To soak the sheets until
They are incarnadined.
You flick out a penknife,
Score the table, and laugh
Scornfully at my glance,
Full of reproach. I watch
As you carve out a crude
Vitruvian man nailed
To an inverted cross.
Your hand slips, a scarlet
Thread blooms across your palm.
As your blood drips into
Crevices created
By your own hand, you grin.
I carefully observe
The thin blade. Rust-coloured
Flecks speckle its surface.
You have done this before.
Your smile a grotesque sight,
Baring your pinkish gums,
Almost too-sharp canines.
You press your lips to mine.
Your teeth, so straight and strong,
Bite down hard on my tongue,
Drawing blood. I fight back,
But just halfheartedly,
Taste of iron in mouth.
The primal beating of
Hearts, pumping liquid life
Through arteries and veins,
Fills my ears, as we sink
Into sweet temptation.
The scene: vaguely occult
In its mingling of pain,
Pleasure and sacrifice.
A bottle of red wine
Stands ignored by one side,
As the table shudders
Under your deft assault.
We do the Marquis proud,
Abasing ourselves thus.
Across mahogany,
Marking it as your own
Even as you strip off
The fresh lacquer. I flinch,
Imagining my flesh
Being flayed by polished
Cuticles, rivulets
Of crimson flowing down
To soak the sheets until
They are incarnadined.
You flick out a penknife,
Score the table, and laugh
Scornfully at my glance,
Full of reproach. I watch
As you carve out a crude
Vitruvian man nailed
To an inverted cross.
Your hand slips, a scarlet
Thread blooms across your palm.
As your blood drips into
Crevices created
By your own hand, you grin.
I carefully observe
The thin blade. Rust-coloured
Flecks speckle its surface.
You have done this before.
Your smile a grotesque sight,
Baring your pinkish gums,
Almost too-sharp canines.
You press your lips to mine.
Your teeth, so straight and strong,
Bite down hard on my tongue,
Drawing blood. I fight back,
But just halfheartedly,
Taste of iron in mouth.
The primal beating of
Hearts, pumping liquid life
Through arteries and veins,
Fills my ears, as we sink
Into sweet temptation.
The scene: vaguely occult
In its mingling of pain,
Pleasure and sacrifice.
A bottle of red wine
Stands ignored by one side,
As the table shudders
Under your deft assault.
We do the Marquis proud,
Abasing ourselves thus.