Read, Read like Red

Read me,
she said as her
hand slid down past
my knobby hips.
Read me like a book
and feel the red
rush into my mouth.

You will taste my red,
my lovely red,
that becomes the
air I breathe
and subdues you while
you taste my red.

What does it taste like
on your tongue
in between your teeth
and soft palette?
Does it taste like desire?
Does it taste like passion?
Or, does my red taste like
death
slowly creeping into your bones
and drying out your intestines?

You shall sit on my red,
my blood red,
my pain and anger
and love and
passion
and become
a god
inside the core of me and my
body.

Touch my red.
See it swim in sin
and drown on the
cool black of forest.

Then, and only then,
when the moon lights
upon our extended torsos,
will you feel the heat
coming from
boiling from
seeping from
deciding from
where
only the being inside does my bidding.

Touch my red and make me
cross that line.

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