Lust unbridled, bit spat out, once swayed Her hips.
And I, a weak-fleshed extravaganza of immorality
did thirst and drink from lips
so swollen, meat purple, as to evoke a sort of genital profanity.
With the whip-crack dominance of will
she parted her knife-cut mouth in ecstatic praise.
Her gyrations smeared anointing oil
across my bruised eyes and dewy, gasping face.
She never took notes as She sat on de Sade’s lap
for She knew that this lover of the furred Venus
craved only Her disdain, Her use, Her slavering gap
spread open, hollow, wanting, and generous.
But dear Lust, you shan’t be my mistress anymore.
I’m tired, I am chafing, and my jaw is getting sore.