always dreamed of fucking the living shit out of you

Yeah…I wouldn’t say that to my face either.

For when I found the throneroom
festooned with pelvis bones,

the twin-fingered god on whose nether lip I hung
a kiss, a crape-gartered barb,

was you — you the pursued, yours
the bull’s head draped with fragrant lash-black hair.

Peter Kline, from “Minotaur” (via the-final-sentence)