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
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment