If you’re thinking, “She’s had a lot of great sex with really shitty men” you are not wrong. Here’s another one from At Louche Ends that I really like, although I think I might like tomorrow’s poem a little better…

Blood Dragon

Last night,
I dreamed I was
his blood dragon.
My long white tongue
flickering over his wounds,
I slithered ravenous
over his chest.
My filthy komodo talons
gouged his delicate skin
to raise grisly droplets.
Paralyzed he would lie
as my belly scraped his,
the sanguine concourses
knotting in his veins
as my contagion
soaked his lips.
Soon his eyes wandered
to a crack in the wall,
no doubt where his warmth fled.
And I rested on
his splintered carcass,
engorged on his anguish
and tacit regret.