Nov 15, 2010

The Sickness

You feed upon my curves-
your hands devouring them fluidly.
Last night’s chocolate lava cake
has nothing on me.
Yet still my eyes feast upon
her bones-the epitome
of my desire:
to have no curves at all.

I eat up leftovers.
She has nothing left over.
Her skin draws lines that mimic
the seams of skinny jeans.
Would I fulfill your hunger,
were I to fit those seams?
Or is my empty stomach
the opposite of your dessert?

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