• Tender tension from a moonlit midnight abyss
    By: Michael Upshaw


    My hands around her pretty neck
    my flesh between her teeth
    leaving ribbons of running red
    with vain prayers to never cease.

    Lips so set upon a face,
    in such a way to shadow grace.
    sweet cruelty in this moment
    as we atrophy,
    juxtaposed in place.

    To feel hot wrath
    is her wandering hands
    a subtle yet sensual tease
    with eyes that pierce the coldest stare,
    yet flow like the midnight breeze.

    Blood that falls to stain the sheets
    crimson drops so sickly sweet
    falling from her fingertips
    through the humid air,
    past the slight smile on her waiting lips.

    my eyes set sure upon her bloody breast
    to find a place where my tongue can rest
    as my heart slows from its ragged race
    I reach once more for her embrace

    a lingering kiss as seconds drip
    to send me to my dreams abyss
    to once more feel and see the face
    that helped facilitate my fall from grace.