If he were her toy
and she were a god
she would make him whisper
the code to
all the secrets of her divine body.
She would make him say the words
to hear the syllables like silk ties
purring against her wrists.
If he were her toy
and she were a god
she’d have him wrestle her.
He would
hold her, wrangle her, yearn against her
until she,
vibrating faster and
faster
becoming
waves of heat,
would split herself in two
and two again.
She would pin
one on each limb
so he could take it
every way she’d imagined over dinner.
Her breath would play against each of his fingers until they were smooth and slick with moisture.
She would slide him into her,
playing
come
here with his fingers
until she was swollen
and so full there were tears in all her eyes.
(His hands thus occupied)
it wouldn’t be hard for her to hold her toy down
against each part of her body, to see what he would do.
And he was a genius.
Her knees against his shoulders
she would moan to feel his tongue enter her
like the first–he would have no breath for speech
for a long–
time.
And until he begged
she would kiss up his length
and down
licking and drooling and flooding against him
consuming him down to a single
clear
whimper.
Then she would merge
becoming
one
again
finally
remembering what it is like
to die.
xx Ster£ing
