Love bites,
love devours.
Voracious,
velvet-mouthed,
mercilessly tender.
My red floods thy lips,
warm as blasphemy,
sweet as ruin.
From my throat fall
ruby beads of surrender,
slow,
luxurious,
unashamed.
Thou wearest me
like forbidden rouge,
like the stain of some exquisite crime.
Our mouths conspire.
Crimson passed between
not loss, exchange.
A chain is wrought of it:
scarlet, gleaming,
shockingly marvelous.
Link by trembling link
we fasten ourselves together,
fettered not by iron,
but by pulse.
My blood sings in thee.
Thy hunger flowers in me.
What is life
if not this lavish hemorrhage?
What is devotion
if not to open the vein
and call it worship?
I feel thee within me
dark tide answering dark tide.
I feed thee.
Thou feedest me.
Thus we’ll perish
and thus are made eternal.
Alive
in the exquisite wound
of one another.

In Praise of Blood





