I Mold You, I Bake You

I squeeze the moon over your body,
scattering its white musk
over the sanctity of your hills,
then slowly yet firmly knead the wetness,
sinking it to your womb’s waters,
making your heart and breath
come to a standstill.

~

Your flesh,
dough under my fingers,
in the heat of my passion
baking into a bread-loaf that I raise,
wine-dipped,
to melt in my mouth.

3 thoughts on “I Mold You, I Bake You

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