Demesne

[Aish]

"There is no more lively sensation than that of pain;
its impressions are certain and dependable,
they never deceive as may those of the pleasure
women perpetually feign and almost never experience."
~Marquis De Sade


Beneath the cat's eye gaze of a full moon

she works the fleam
like a wayward priestess,
circumcising her harlot tongue
then probing deeper,
excising moth-eaten vocal chords.

Ceremoniously
she ties the thin pink string too taut,
cleans her blade
and slices off a nipple.

Alabaster monuments of lust
she carves graceful arabesques
into her thighs,
measuring each trench
of skin and muscle.

She covets the gossamer scarf
bestowed by her beloved mumma
and meticulously winds
the diaphanous tyrant
until it pinches just so,
tying God's name into the knot,
covering the growth of resentful hair.

Ingénue of pain,
a half-shadow of pleasure
she smells of fresh earth after rain
and tart green apples.

The buttery voice
betrays a hint,
a shushed growl escaping
the susurrous talisman.

Beautifully ugly
she re-sculpts her body,
amorphous and androgynous;

cuts away her sins to be loved immaculately.

[billy]

i'll have to come back to this

[billy]

it's a bit gory but a bit tasty as well
fleam will be my favourite word for at least 1 and a 1/2 months.

the intro is stupendous

[rowens]

She's a patchwork of goodness.

[Aish]

I appreciate the feedback.
I might attempt another one. I was prett happy with the way this one turned out.

[MrA]

I know this poem.

With the word usage it's almost macabre-like.
Full of lovely-filthy imagery. Your word choices are wonderful and seamlessly attached, as am I, the reader.

[Aish]

Mr.A,
Pleased as punch, many thanks