Butter Words

Him 

And his words 

Were 

Like butter

Taken daily 

Made these thighs

Thick

Slip

Open

Hoping 

For a taste 

Of cream

He seemed 

Willing 

But never eager

We were

Simple 

Pure 

Fresh

Organic habits

Having 

At it

Rabbits

Had me 

Ache for carrots

Good for the sight

And I 

Coulda had it 

Whenever 

However

The way that I asked it

With eyes wide

Black lashes

Mouth 

Soft pink O 

So 

Perfect

Stirring 

Innocence with sinfulness

Simplest  

Form of flattery

Wanton

Wet

Anatomy

Wanting

Him 

To have at me 

To drop 

Syllables 

Soundly 

At my ears 

That neared 

The places

That his hands couldn't

My mind

That his hands shouldn't

My heart 

But I wouldn't 

Be far 

From truth

If I said 

That I knew

What he wants to do

To accomplish 

With this heat 

He bakes 

In me 

He tries to free 

My hurt 

From the safety of cages

Ages 

Behind them 

But he says 

-Let them go 

You're fine 

When I 

Hold you

So 

You can stop the torture

I don't believe

In martyrs-

And 

It's harder than you think

To be found out 

To be ground out

Down to the bone 

Now

He grinds hard 

Till I moan

Presses with sweat 

Against his brow

Till it all becomes 

Flour

He adds all of him

Long late hours 

Till he 

Makes me flower

Bloom

Brand new 

Bread 

Fresh 

Out of the oven

Sudden 

Deep 

Seated need to sleep

To keep 

Eyes shut

As I shudder

And lick lips 

That taste faintly

Of the 

Sweet salt 

Of his 

Butter