Misremembered Plum Poem Emulation

This is just to say
I’m sorry
for how
your garnet blood ran down my chin
as I licked your wounds
with my briny tongue.

This is just to say
I’m sorry
for running the tip
of my blade down your inner thighs
and asking if it turned you on.
I shouldn’t
(but I did)
ignored your tears.

And oh,
how my briny tongue
and pitched
and rolled
with all the turmoil of every shark in the ocean
hurdling towards
your gushing wounds spilling into my sea.

I am sorry for loving you,
sorry that
my briny tongue stings
every opening of your honeyed body.
You are ancient Roman sculptures on the bottom of the ocean.
Of all the sponge divers in the Mediterranean,
I got lucky.
That glowing orange metal turns green when exposed to air.
You stopped getting high for me.
When I kissed you in the driveway, I felt
all my oxygen flow into your greening lungs.

This is just to say
I have eaten more
than just the plums.
I binged on all the
contents of the ice box.
I did it for the attention
No amount of innerness
could fill me with your outerness.
(Have I said sorry
too much?)

The apology cums
with the
passionate mouth
of metallic masturbation.
Alone, I wait patiently for
the orgasm that never manifests.

The unseemly parts of me
that I have adorned
with gluttony and greed
leak out of my orifices
and holes
beneath a violent fucking
masquerading as passion,
and romance.

I bleed.
I bleed.
I do it to myself.

Please don’t bandage my wounds, but
please don’t
(as if I’ve ever said those swords before)
watch me get blackout drunk
on my own blood,
guzzling it up
with my briny tongue.


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