Words are for foolish humans by Bogdan Dragos

“I wish I could write
my feelings on
the wings of a blue
butterfly,” she said. “And
then follow it around
the room
with a burning
or a lighter
until I burn it to
a crumpling crisp.
I would write about
you on those
wings, of course.
I would go to sleep dressed in
funeral attire, hiding
your solar plexus
between my legs, your skull
between my breasts, my
tongue circling around
and around
over and over again
inside your orbits. I would
decorate your skeletal
mouth with rose
and stick thorns
between your teeth. And
how many vertebrae
do you think I can
swallow without
choking? D’you think that
with training, in time,
I could deep throat
your whole spine?”

His lips parted for
a reply
but she
quickly sealed them
back with a finger
dipped in
her body juices

“Shh, don’t answer
me with words,
darling. Words are for
foolish humans. Let me
handle them.
Gods like you communicate
through feelings.”

They both
felt it, alright

The night was in
full bloom
about them 

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