claret clarity

Words lead to words lead to words

I treasure this

The moment of claret clarity

When you see through me

Past me

Into the deep chasm of the past

And realize I’m there

Leaving the residue of my tang

On your palette and glass

As you swirl my body

To enhance my bouquet

It arouses you

Men lusting after what you claim

It angers you

That lust surges when you know

You know

You can’t pretend you don’t

You can smell it on me

You can see it on my flushed skin

And the covetous knowing glances

Of your peers when formality dictates

Our social appearance at modest events

You think you are breaking me?

Because you mercilessly ravage me

And leave me spunked and spent?

As if the sight of my ruined body

Engorged cunt, seeping your cum

The finger bruises on breast and ass

Wouldn’t arouse the next man

It’s proof of what I am capable of

You may be first tonight

But you won’t be last


in reply to my wonderful Will

Erotica by Will Crimson

I have spilled wine—
colors and fragments.
When you are
a cunt (don’t think
I don’t know) I think
of the wine. The label,
printed 1882,
with the blood-red stains.
I keep the label—
Château Pichon Longueville Baron.
You haven’t been there?
Guilbaut was a covetous
man. He noted the wine.
Should I make
comparisons?—a woman like you?
I beheaded the bottle,
spilled the succor—rather
than a man taste
besides myself. I don’t
keep toys. you,
cunt in full bloom,
the grape of your tits,
the liquor of your thighs
thick and conniving. I’ll break
the seal before
you tempt another man.
millicent_1b82d7Crack the bottle,
spill my jealousy in your
cunt and anus—stain, debase,
and violate you
with the cock of it. Do you
scream? Does the the tongue
break from your mouth as though
I strangled you, cock
in cunt and fucked from behind?
Pity the man. I leave
in the air, thighs,
skin and tongue cock-stained. and
mine. Pity
Bluebeard. We
break the things we love.

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