Tattoo

needles and ink,

they made pictures and frescos

across dark melanin skin.

A couple,

hearts knotted into one,

through veins and arteries.

they were inseparable,

fluttering kisses,

making love like rough tsunamis

across rocky cliff sides,

like volcanoes erupting from

hot lava,

breaking surfaces and crust.

their tattoos made love to

dark melanin skin.

they were in love, ink and needle,

meant to forever make bloody masterpieces

for broken and healing hearts.

P.O.W.

I am a prisoner of women,
in a prison of cold case loves.
I choose my poisons, wisely.
A prisoner of the female anatomy.
trapped to suffer from
words as sweet as the soliloquies
whispered in the ears of
infatuated girls boy lovesick boys.
smart as blades, sharpened
jut enough to slide through
the skin of their victims.
I am a prisoner of weapons.
not afraid to say that
this is a prison I could spend
the rest of my life in,
for in this prison, I choose
my poisons wisely.
Whether it be a woman,
lips laced in lethal lies
as tart as kiwi seeds,
or a dominatrix,
cat o' nine whips
engulfed in flames of lust and desire,
for in this prison of
words, weapons, and cold case loves,
every man who's touched these walls can
say a dominating woman
is the only pleasure you feel.
It just depends on which kind of poison you choose,
and women on top
are of the best ilk.