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- Erotic Poetry
- Iconoclast
Poem Info
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Confess, they said.
Yes. I confess to all the sins laid at my feet.
I confess...there lies in our midst a heretic.
Yes, I crawled through shit and licked his fetid feet.
I did, indeed, take flesh to these lips—soft and delicious in their sins.
Did I want as he brought pleasure through pain?
Did I relish the burn and was I laid low?
How his hands did bruise the tender of my throat.
How his nails wrote love stories upon my skin.
How I wished—no begged and pleaded for more.
And when he brushed his fingers, gentle and cool, against the risen angry trails—yes!
Let the blood wash me clean.
Yes, I confess.
I twirled and swayed to his cries.
I felt the snap of his violated skin as it gave way.
I licked all the hidden sacred places and touched all the forbidden.
He waited and languished for the whip...the crop...the flogger...the branding...the truth.
And when he spilled, he spilled for me because I have an insatiable thirst.
Confess desire and be set free.
Confess and be renewed.
Confess all the wicked and be redeemed in the luxury of sacrifice.
Yes, I am but a lowly soul.
Yes, I confess.
Burn me in the flames.
Temper me in passion, forge me by the hands of hell.
This is the way.
This is the light of my soul.
Yes, I confess...
...but who is really the heretic?
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