Conqueror by T.J. CarverEvery time you die,
you take a little
of me with you on
your way to heaven.
Bestial satisfaction,
wet, red lines the grid
mapping a path to treasure:
your spine, your breasts...
(Oh, what treasures have
I to gain from thee.
Such tender spoils.
Every time is a
new exploration;
familiar waters
remain uncharted.)
So soft the throat:
the harder I squeeze,
the more intense
your muffled cries.
And with release
you die,
taking me along.
~Dedicated to E.R.E. 06/20/2005 Posted on 06/21/2005 Copyright © 2025 T.J. Carver
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