Bought And Paid For

The heady taste of you on my tongue
reminds me of caviar;
I can remember the slicksaltsweet,
and the spread of your thighs,
oiled and offered.
You are a rich love, with expensive tastes —
I didn’t think I could afford you,
but I’ll gladly pay the market price
until you’re off the shelves.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.