Let Me Stain Your Sheets by Brittony Fay-Johnson

Your white Egyptian sheets
are now stained with blood.
– Mine, from a midnight past –

The brass lamp on the end tables
– overturned –
Not noticed in the moment.

At a glance,
the sense of struggle.

Still the leather straps hang,
from the four posts cherry frame
of your bed.
Longing for feet and wrist.

The smells of oils
– and sex –
almost gone from the air.

Ravage me!
Oh, muse of sexual excursions.

Leave me swollen,
bloodied,
bruised,
and in want for more cotton sheets to stain.

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