Stitched with Flame


With ferocities of lightning biting
lips of brazen vessels equipped
with pits which, when courtesans & paramour

men sink there teeth in, electrify them
to transgress against convention
and sin, sin worse than ever any from

among their sordid kindred had before
or will again since, to kiss this
rim fingers travel yet tongues empower

with flickers of flame to untame itself,
to open wide agape, and take
full on those members whose fires are rivers

carrying embers into veins, too wild
to avoid blame, how others have
knelt, bent knees unrepentant, to welcome


temptation and let strangers feast, eat whole
those wells which hold secrets no more,
nor better, than mouths which have leaked far worse

whispers than these whose keepers quest for its
release and rejoice at greeting
with success what satisfaction’s pleasure

their effort seeks when, tongue pulled deep inside,
suddenly thunder rolls and that
devout inmate of the inmost heart speaks

intimate things into throats his own heats
with a moist voice only lovers
comprehend in those sultry moments when,

spread apart, cheeks beset with spittle and
sweat impart without regret that
distinctive scent, that wilderness fragrance


the musk of which sets ablaze the minds of
slaves frenzied to delirium,
intoxicating them to pervert pain

into walking skin no waking from this
dream can unpin, stick with it, then,
this pursuit of what soothes a precious few

and confuses one yet unacquainted
with what such delicious taboo
allures others and repulses many

but hurts none, a craving no worse than some,
a tingle cured by touch mingling
sacred & profane, a singling out, without

shame, of the world’s end, for some reason more
scandalous than its origin,
where eating out begins by digging in.