A numbing presence holds me
Refusing to budge,
Gripping tighter,
Groping in the darkness,
Searching for a treasure I hold,
Groaning slowly into my ear
Fingering my soul,
It squeezes tighter
Forcing its power on me
Piercing my body with a sharp pain,
Blood rushes to my brain
Actions scrambling in my mind,
The body is dumb,
The hand slows across my breast
Unadorned and tattered,
Air slipping away,
Strength reduces in me as it holds tighter,
Probing and finds what it desires,
Draining this well of youth of its worth,
Blistering fire between my legs,
Sweet sin in this place,
It all leaves a bitter after taste.
©2007 – V. A. Coote