Bite through
my ripe, pink flesh
into the redder core of me,
juicy-sweet,
crisp-tart —
bountiful, my love,
bountiful, your hunger.
Unified in desire,
thrilled in joining,
if you get my meaning.
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.