Cup of my collar-bone.

When the skies opened their doors a feather dreamily landed in the cup of my collar-bone.

It floated through the rose garden of the Satan, and through the Play room of the God.

It landed and made no noise.

But it landed with a thud !

I locked it in a room behind a steel-door and decided to keep it there forever.

Now, where the feather once landed, I keep a key there, in the cup of my collar-bone.

Is it the ceiling ? Is it the sky ?

Is it the ceiling ?

Is it the sky ?

Is it the lovely people that lie ?

Is it the fox in the shape of a sheep ?

Ready to pounce, ready to leap.

Ready to cut you through in pieces.

(As you) expose your neck expecting kisses..

Salivating, all they see..

Your throbbing carotid artery..

Just the brush of the fangs, along your collar-bones.

Just a little nip, just a little tuck.

And back up again, a sweet feathery touch, a warm blow of breath,by the jugular vein.

And while you are your most orgasmic self, that’s when they dig..

Dig, dig, dig, deeper…

You are left unaware of pain, painful pleasure..

Is it the ceiling, is it the sky ?

Is it the lovely people that lie ?

Alas…it was not the sky after all..

Or was it ???

 

 

©skartsland