In leviathan dreams
I licked my own blood
off your parted lips with
the hunger of a mythic bliss.
I woke soaked in memory,
the taste of bitter ghosts
on my tongue, the grey chill
of adulthood for company.
I have slept a marathon,
and risen to a lesser dawn,
But there is power in the viscous
heat of a stranger’s pleasure
spent on the curve of my thigh.
Desire incarnate has the charm
of a curious reacquaintance
with tolerance for what is.