Guzzling Whore
Don't worry, cookie.
I won't eat you.
Unless you ask, but
I doubt you will.
With Sanguine intentions,
We toss and tumble,
Laughing with grass
Stained khaki's.
This is bliss.
Across the
Rolling hills of
Our private desires.
Your key barely
Fits anymore, but
That's okay because
I can't be your
Door anymore.
Remember? I stand
On the
Corner.
With fishnet
Stocking, a cigarette
And a mini-skirt.
You dare to
Cross me so
I've become what
You've wanted.
Now burn,
Lover.
Copyright © Ian D. Campbell | Year Posted 2013
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