Your deception tastes better than your false promises,

Your betrayals have slotted my tongue as aching as you desired,

Bruises aren’t the mysteries, one needs to unfold,

Rather, the impressions you carved on my naked breast,

My shameless eyes still frequents our baby’s funeral,

That was never born,

My thirsty tongue still craves your sweat, 

wild bites. And the agony,

Blazing vagina felt each night,

When moonlight was the only source,

Feeding our never ending thirst of copulation,


Here, you go. Taste any other flesh,

You like. But, it’ll never quench,

your soul thirst.