Soliloquy of the Nude

From brothels behind the brother's home

For men(worth a whore's heart)

Your lordship's denial of the worst situations lining the caverns of domesticated faith hide behind bushes of low life and heavy girth,parchment paper and the navy blue blob of darkness whispering destruction.
Propagation.
Dilapidation
of principal fundamental technicalities of handsome donours and bottle caps worth a hundred cents. Ductility of your muse and the musings of your ductile nudity that you lie with at the end of my stories,holding my hand and everything else that you can grab under the blanket.
My hair,torso,tight breasts.
Don't stop.
Fuming incandescent hostility reverberate through my cry.
Heave.
Make me.
Your subordinates did it, too. So did my father. And the brother I got from him.
Feathers stuck on me like the left over from the dinner on the decorated table top. Can I be your sparkling wine?
I guess not.
Just fragments of raw meat huddled together on your bed sheet under your nipples.
They said it,too. I smell like rotten flower petals hanging from the wings of butterflies. They work an extra shift at night, pretending to be glow worms. That is when I like them best.
Pardon me.
I waltz with puppets and give them your name. It is  difficult, you know- getting entangled with their strings and falling. Apart.

Priceless!

Your look when you grit your teeth and the tongue lashes out to cradle my face and everything along with it.

LA LA LA ... Wonderland.

Here we go. Perpetuity.
You are strong. I like that. But I love stronger. Harder.
Press yourself on me till we meet like the orange of the sun and the crimson of the horizon

Pierce through. No silly! Not through my heart, through the other thing. Spread your legs. Let me bleed you like I bled them when they did the same.

Wreck me.

Love, you made a mother out of a woman like me.

~the Nude.