scorpio sting

frame me, oh, to where sadism -
its figurine breaths me, and ruins be recipes
of perfection risen to

what smells like (at first glance) lust,
pulls closer to moisten vengeance of mine.
and you,
have white sheets that have yet to stain.
not made of small. nor for your harvest -
fetch your chipper tongue to last
in me until i finish
past the bed,
onto the floor.

in midnight burning
glory
this gloating body curves
coyly.
but i -
unlike those before, can eat your half attempt
at life
to bits.