though pinkish hands unsheathed me
and parted each silk curtain
to gaze on my seclusion
he could but only gasp.
For there, between each flexing breath:
an empty hole, unnatural.
though drawn into my gaping maw,
like victor more than vanquished
he spat his words from draining lips
in spidery whispers:
"I will complete you."
forgive me, then, if sated
on Love's sweet banquet, liquified,
I burst at once
and fall like rain
into your depths,
but I can only give as got:
I will finish you.