Menstrual red
spattered about the bed.
White as cocaine,
she poses attractively stiff.
Exploring gray veins,
bulging on her firm breasts,
I scrape my tongue slowly
across frigidly hardened skin—
seeking relief in the depth
of the most amoral sin.
Fingering the jagged gash
across her gelid throat,
I dispense the warm,
liquid life of me
into the cold, still waters
of her ovarian sea.
Unrested on a crimson grave,
for how long beautifully intact
will she remain?

By William Andre Sanders

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