What She Takes

Behind fire,
Sweating desire.

I am a museum of makeup,
the art of the feminine,
the vision of seduction.

By my entrance,
no angel of any kind,
my soul in sackcloth.

Imperfection entrances,
greed entrenched.
She has feasted on the slick sheen
of my alabaster skin for hours.
Having had the skin,
now she will take the fat,
and together we will leave the bone.

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