Begging for Danger

The killing glances
of torture made sacred
surround my heart,
press down on my lungs,
and spill out my blood.
Fingertip knives scar,
but all I feel
is satin soft skin.
Lips and tongue,
featherlight flutters,
while ivory razors
sink deep.
Lust lets you press,
slide and shudder
your athame deep,
while all I feel
is the cock rhythm
in wet, willing, warmth,
while my body curls
in waves of ecstasy.

Every "little death"
leaves dissatisfaction,
to push closer still
to the thin barrier
and beg for the danger.
More biting kisses,
bruising touches,
suffocating glances,
until my body slices
the mortal veil
in one, final orgasm.