Thymele.

I own a honeycomb of desires.
a swarm of drones bounding me inside it.
steriled working bees feeding back my memories
and a queen bee in a fecundity state.
breath in thyme scented looks and promises,
breath out music. dressing Dionysus thymeles.

You. dressed in black.your shadow pale.
your nails warm and sharp.
sinking in my mellow hives.

You.hungry and betrayed.
giving in yourself to lust.
harvesting fear and conceit.
gulping them in orgasmic shots.
basting on your wounds their leftovers...

a bite,a bit.....

it's your look that can break mirrors and melt their frames...
and this irrestible desire to,while you conquer that mirror,
weld the chain links that bend us in the utmost orgasm
with a bite beneath your lobe,
your pulse in my jaws.
shattered our anxieties,stinging our naked feet.
it's your absense,or is it your inexistence
that sheds crystal roses on my path?