Summer Slaughter
I sit beneath you,
Indulge on your flesh.
Barely ripe, I slowly peel away skin.
I watch as you rot before my eyes,
Your peach tone rusts around the core,
expands through the veins.
You bleed across my hands.
Leaving your fruitful scent,
to sink between my pores.
The heat gives life to your perfume,
It rises in the light, spreads itself
across the air.
The summer’s slaughter is growing near.
Copyright © Phil Naylor | Year Posted 2005
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