One More Taste
My tears are granted a reprieve on Día de los Muertos...
Para ti mi amor I think of you, stolen from my grasp less than a year ago, as my hand meticulously paints my body, pretending the brush is your fingertip. I like to think your Spirit guides my painting, starting at my collarbone, lowering, swirling blackness over my right breast, before reaching its final destination between my thighs. Red sequins are applied, surrounding my right nipple. Oh, how it hardens, with th...