You dream
yourself
bound in meaty
ribbons of my
feminine vapours,
steaming in
the hothouse
of my cunt.
To keep me
in your
mind’s eye,
you fuck
the cold sea
between us.
It is only
the prospect
of your
inevitable
ejaculation
that keeps
you warm.
We will always
be separate.
You cannot curl
in upon yourself
anemone-like.
Where you spend,
I conserve
swallowing
the whole
hole of my
pleasure
enraptured
musculature of
my induction.
I do not spurt
or need to add
to the failed
posibilities.
Your desperate
attempts to
avoid death
in my womb
are futile.
Nothing grows here
but what I allow.
And I will nurture
no more versions
of you.
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