I’ve devoured so many women,
I don’t even know who I am any more.
a gentleman with charming words
and chivalrous sway, around dancing
bodies and beautiful smiles
I can court the embering lust
burrowed in the heart of a virgin lover
too innocent for the bold cornea
watching their aching steps
to have a chance at love
made by the promises in my touch
to their shoulder
brisk brush to the arm
silent stroke to the cheek
hollow smile to their purring delight
as I look within to find a purpose
of why I lust as I do
after I was raised a gentleman
championed most of my existence
as the knight that women found their
safety behind
and now, the betrayer of these niceties
infested into my armor as the rust that
decays away with the sweet and tart
ferment of a broken promise
to keep these ladies whole
It is an urge I feel as the smile of a
winking eye, twitching gaze of happenstance love
enter a room to say hello
greeted by a handshake now
hug coming soon,
after their dress is lifted up
and their honor unlocked
put next to their undergarments
as they pepper the floor next to our
bodies
theirs the beauty
mine the beast
as I ravage innocence away with
strokes of barbarian thrusts
tallying another meat suit
into a book I’ve forgotten the location of.
Sweet, sweet loves.
How dare you bite my lip looking for
desire
looking for a love, from me, the appropriate
liar.
Patrick Bairamian is the founder and editor of No Name Press. His poem Made For… was featured on The Armenite earlier this week. He is also the author of a book of poetry entitled Rogue. He can be reached at patrickbairamian -at- gmail.com.
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