THE WATCHER
- 4 days ago
- 1 min read
By Abigail Pinder
I watch my lovers trembling hands reach for sacred thighs
Gripping my velvety flesh with wonted abandon, he splays them into the old hay
My body doesn’t fight as his fingers press trails into the blue lines of drying veins
The stillness I gift him pricking his exposed appetite
Heavy hot breath dripping between us, against the frosty draft penetrating the slats of the barn
Unfrozen, black blood seeps, oozing down my paling skin to meet his calloused touch
And he greets it, fingers smearing the sickly darkness, digging with earnest towards my centre
Our shared excitement growing as his tips sweep caresses over my folds and probe at my last warmth
He
Worms
Into
My
Core
The absent pulse thrums between us at the squelching release of obsidian nectar
Empty air sweeps through my abandoned lungs, freeing a haunted groan from sapphire lips
And he bellows at the exquisite feeling of pure indulgence, shadowed by the hollowed night
Sticky ink coating our joining flesh, tattooing our oldest tale into my hide
The moonlight streaming, glistening blown pupils, staring depthless into the rafters
Where my arousal keeps me
Watching my lover worship my corpse.