I can’t soar anymore
my wings are fine
it’s just my spirit
its broken.
My black child
white rimmed curves
So gentle
So subtle
Smooth and cold.
My child was difficult but when we played
she screamed.
Orgasm after orgasm
filled with an untamed spirit
that wailed like an exulted banshee
in the soft deep light of the moon
My fingers cramped
My shoulders arched
with ghastly pain
I sweated like deaths steaming black steed
and still she screamed
screaming more!
More!
Faster!
FASTER!
*
And I fell to my knees
exhausted
exhulted
and she would stop wailing.
Her spirit ridden
Tired but still hot
Coals glowing in the dark
Tired
Hot
Still yearning to be spurred on
still seething with life
Now my black child
she’s dead
Although her spirit still glows
My lungs are charred
black with the yearning for death
and I can’t fly anymore
My wings are fine
it’s just my spirit
it’s broken.