Crucible of Lips

Allie Nelson

Dances with Tricksters

And I’ll worship at your altar, and choke
on your lips, the crucible deadly of hips
like an empire, breasts like Everest, so
mighty and rounded with snow, our sexes
are flush and questioning, our hands are
seeking as you straddle my foolish heart,
your hair lush like a river of nightmares,
your eyes the color of swamps, and in red
lipstick marks on the haunted house wall my
demoness writes “You’re Mine,” drives home
her domination, and I worship at her feet.

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Author: Sudden Denouement

A Global Literary Collective

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