I taste of taste champagne, sweat and bone dust
as I trace the faded cigarette burns slithering up her legs
like sickly serpents desperate to intertwine
that step by step lead me to the hell
waiting between her thighs
Prompt: Taste. As an extension.
Written for OctPoWriMo 2020. 31 poems, 31 days.
Since the prompt was an extension of the previous ones, I figured a little bit of a storyline going further down the rabbit hole was in order. That, and I have had most of this one floating around in my head, begging to be put to good use.
Of course, as always, since I never planned for any of this to happen, the emergent mini story line and an overt fixation on sexuality just decided to happen and I let it.
I swear, This year has been an interesting exercise in running around like a headless chicken.