I press the tip to her, feeling resistance,
It yields and she screams.
Without looking, I know there is blood.
Writhing and screaming beneath me,
her nails leave hot furrows in my skin.
My blood rages, roaring in my ears,
drowning the cries that drive me on.
This time not slow and lingering,
but fast, hard, urgent with passion.
Thrusting to the hilt, again and again,
Wet and sticky, she flows,
I feel her warmth on my skin,
faster, faster, faster,
I race towards ecstasy.
She shrieks, and then, drained and spent,
I withdraw, wipe her blood from my blade,
and return to the night.
-megazone, what did you
think it was?, 12/16/94