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Shaunna Harper Shaunna Harper
Recommendations: 35

Paraphilia Paraphernalia

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soul mates

And what do you see?
The muscle of his arm, clenched,
fingers in my bones,

tight lips pretending
a smile, grimace, real as flesh,
I am in pleasure -

pain, the enigma,
voices, rapturous echo
beg to the other.

What about this one?
The shadow form, spread apart.
Looks black as his heart.

Throats and tongues devour;
he liked to bite, be bitten.
Charming - so smitten.

Teeth like needles, prick
deserted flesh left to melt.
The thought makes me sick.

This right here could be
metaphor for symmetry;
a perfect affair,

the romance in hate,
the resignation of fate -
it was meant to be.

Doctor, understand,
I can't find fault with murder
as an act of love.

They don't really die.
They feast on the life you give,
they don't need to live.

He is my twin flame.
The ink blot says it all, see:
true love, you and me.

And what do you see?
Look carefully. At first glance
our morbid romance.

Eyes, blackened and blue,
red lines that follow the spine
like roads on a map,

nails bitten and frayed,
anxiety of misused
affection; betrayed.

Black mass, his temper,
brittle, sharp, like broken glass.
Some days were better.

Lips to suck the life
from warm flesh, bruised like squashed fruit,
his tongue bloodied, split.

What does this remind
you of? Observe carefully.
What is it you see?

Dirtied fingernails,
curled in soft, fair hair, fisting,
all strength resisting.

Legs locked like bull's horns,
the war of flesh, the sin - lust
cries escape the teeth,

the bone underneath
victim to a real man's touch.
Blood swells like a storm.

I see his forearm,
clenched, fingers at my throat, wrenched
free from tighter skin.

He wants to come in,
his smile a jagged diamond.
Tell me, have I sinned?

I still have his heart.
Somewhere, he makes me his art.
This is what I see.

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